




V 




f 




The Parting. 




FAST FRIENDS. 


BY 







ROWBRIDGE, 


Aotmok of '‘Jack Hazard and His Fortunks,’' ktc. 


PHILADELPHIA 


HENRY T. COATES & CO. 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS. 

Two Copies Received 

APn 25 !903 

Copyright Entry 

0 'I- 

CLASS XXo, No 
* 2 - ^ ls> 1- ^ 
COPY A. 



Entered according to Act of Congress, in tte year 1874, 
BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO,, 
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 


CONTENTS 


Chapter 

I. 

A Young Contributor . , . 

• 


Page 

7 

II. 

Taking the Packet Boat. • , 

• 


15 

Ill, 

The “Other Boy” . • • 

«- 

• 

20 

lY. 

The Journey and an Adventure . 

• 


27 

V, 

“A BAD Fix ” .... 

« 

• 

31 

VI. 

How THE, Boys paid their Fare 

• 


37 

VII. 

The Other Boy’s Story , . 

• 

• 

41 

VIII. 

jGtEoi^ge opens his Heart and his Trunk 


52 

IX. 

Head and Heels .... 

# 

• 

58 

X. 

Mr. Fitz, Dingle’s generous Offer 

• 


66 

XL 

Arrival in New York 

• 

• 

73 

XII. 

The Boarding-House. — Locked out 

• 


78 

XIIL 

The Mysterious Gentleman . 

• 

• 

83 

XIV. 

Morning, IN the City ... . 

. 


89 

XV. 

Mr. Manton’s friendly Promises 

9 

• 

95 

XVI. 

George peddles his Manuscripts . 

. 


100 

XVII, 

Mr. Manto^’s Friend . 

. 

• 

108 

XVIII. 

How Mr. Manton took the Boys Home 


117 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


XIX. The Quarrel made up . . . . 123 

XX. How George and Jack earned a Shil- 
ling 128 

XXL George and the Bookseller . . 137 ^ 

XXII. An Evening at Bowery Hall . . 145 

XXIII. Fitz Dingle and the Colored Min- 
strels . . j , . . .153 

XXIV. Pen and Purse 160 

XXV. “ Processor De Waldo and Master Felix 166 

XXVL Mrs. Libby is ^‘much obleeged” , 173 

XXVII. » A Visit ’TO t-he Pawnbroker . .180 

XXVIIT. The End of an Air-Castle . . 187 

XXIX. * The Professor’s ‘Hand-Bill . . .195 

XXX. A MUTUAL Surprise .... 200 

XXXI.* Jack and the Professor . . . 206 

XXXII. An unforeseen Calamity . . • 214 

XXXIII.* A Mystery in Jack’s Pocket • . 222 

XXXIV. The Police Court .... 232 

XXXV. * How THE Diamond found a Purchaser 239 

XXXVI. An unexpected Arrival . . . 244 

XXXVII.* Jack and the old Sail-Maker , , 251 

XXXVIII. Himself again ..... 257 

XXXIX.* A Eevelation 265 

XL. Jack’s Kelatives 271 

XLI.* The Last . • 276 


LIST OF ILLUSTEATIONS. 


Page 

The Parting ••••••• Frontispiece . 

George’s little Adventure 23 

Molly and Jack 48 

Head and Heels 61 

“It’s just the Place for you, young Man” . . 69 

An astonished Landlady 78 

George and the Editor 105 

Mr. M Anton’s Friend 115 

The Boys assist Mr. Fitz Dingle 133 

“The Talent, the Tact, I may say, the Genius” . 155 

“Any Callers?” asked the Professor. . . . 169 

The Pawnbroker’s Shop 185 

“Just come with me!” 202 

“Take Three Dollars, and here’s your Money” . 212 

“It is a Diamond, and a fine one” .... 230 

“ViNNIE WATCHED THE SICK, WAN FaCE” . . . 249 

Jack and his Relatives 273 




FAST FRIENDS. 



CHAPTER I. 


A YOUNG CONTRIBUTOR. 


ERY early one spring morn- 
ing, not quite thirty years 
ago, a tall boy, with arms 
almost too long for his coat- 
sleeves, sat eating a hasty 
breakfast in a farm-house 
of Western New York. His 
hair was freshly combed, 
his shirt-collar clean, his 
fair face smoothly 
shaved (or perhaps 
the beard was yet to 
grow), and he ap- 
peared dressed for 
a journey. 

By the table, 
leaning her elbow 
upon it, sat a young 
girl, who did not eat, but watched him wistfully. 

“ George,” said she, with a tremulous smile, “ you ’ll 
forget me as soon as you are gone.” 


8 


FAST FRIENDS. 


George looked up, over his plate of fried potatoes, 
and saw her eyes — a bright blue, and smiling still 
— grow very misty indeed, and suddenly let fall a 
shining drop or two, like rain in sunshine. She 
caught up her apron, dashed away the tears with a 
laugh (she must either laugh or cry, and laughing 
-was so much more sensible), and said, " I know you 
will, George ! ” 

“ Don’t think that, Vinnie ! ” said George, ear- 
nestly. “ You are the only person or thing on this 
old place that I don’t wish to forget.” 

I am sorry you feel so, George ! ” 

“I can’t help it. I’ve nothing against them , — 
only they don’t understand me. Nobody under- 
stands me, or knows anything of what I think or 
feel.” 

“ Don’t I — a little ? ” smiled Vinnie. 

You, more than anybody else. And, Vinnie ! ” 
exclaimed George, “ I do hate to leave you here ! ” 

He gazed at her, thinking how good, how beautiful, 
she was. On the table there was a candle still burn- 
ing with a pale flame. Just then a broad-chested, 
half-dressed farmer came in from another room, 
yawning, and buttoning his suspenders, saw the can- 
dle, and put it out. 

''Needn’t burn candles by daylight,” he said, 
pinching the wick and then wiping his fingers on his 
uncombed hair. 

George watched the broad back with the suspen- 
ders, knit of yellow yarn, crossed over a blue flannel 


A YOUNG CONTRIBUTOR. 


9 


shirt, going out at the back door, and looked grimly 
sarcastic. 

“That’s his way; he don’t mean anything; he’s 
good-hearted behind it all,” Vinnie explained. “ Eat 
a doughnut.” 

George declined the doughnut, and sat back in his 
chair. “ I can’t help laughing ! Nine years I ’ve 
lived with him, — my uncle, my mother’s only 
brother: he sees me ready for a journey, my trunk 
packed ; and nobody knows, not even myself, just 
where I am going, or how I am going to live ; and 
his first words are, ‘Needn’t burn candles by day- 
light.’ Candles ! ” repeated George, contemptuously. 

The uncle walked a little way from the back door, 
stopped, hesitated, and then walked back again. A 
trunk was there, loaded up on an old wheelbarrow. 

“Ye might have had the horse and wagon, George, 
to take your trunk down,” he said. 

“ Uncle Presbit,” George answered, with a full 
heart, “ I ’m obliged to you ; but you did n’t say so 
last night, when I spoke about it.” 

That was too true. Uncle Presbit gazed rather 
uneasily at the trunk for a moment, then slowly re- 
volved on his axis, and the yellow X on the blue 
back moved off again. 

“ I wish you would take my money ! ” Vinnie then 
said in a low tone of entreaty. “You will need it, I 
am sure.” 

“ I hope not,” replied George. “ I ’ve enough to 
take me to Albany or New York, and keep me there 


10 


FAST FRIENDS. 


a few days. I shall find something to do. I sha’ n’t 
starve. Never fear.” 

“ But promise you ’ll write to me for my money, if 
you need it. You know you will be welcome to it, 

— more than welcome, George ! ” 

At that moment the uncle reappeared at the door. ‘ 
He was a plain, coarse man, with a rather hard but 
honest face, and he looked not unkindly on George. 

When ye spoke last night,” he said, “ I hoped 
ye ’d reconsider. ’T ain’t too late to change yer mind 
now, ye know. Had n’t ye better stay ? Bird in 
the hand ’s wuth two in the bush. It ’s a dreffie 
onsartin thing, this goin’ off to a city where nobody 
knows ye nor cares for ye, to seek yer fortin.” 

“It’s uncertain, I know,” replied George, with a 
resolute air ; “ but I ’ve made up my mind.” 

“ Wal ! boys know more ’n their elders now’days.” 
And once more the uncle walked heavily and 
thoughtfully away, . scratching his rough head. 

“George,” whispered Vinnie, “if you print any- 
thing in the city papers, be sure to send me a copy.” 

“ Of course,” — blushing and stammering a little, 

— “if I do.” 

She had touched a sensitive chord in the boy’s 
heart, which thrilled with I know not what secret 
aspirations. For George was a poet, — or dreamed 
he was. In the heart of that farm-bred, verdant 
youth lurked a romantic hope, shy as any delicate 
wild-flower shrinking from the glare of day under 
the shade of some secluded rock. He would hardly 


A YOUNG CONTRIBUTOR. 


11 


have owned, even to himself, that it was there. To 
be a poet, — to write what the world would delight 
to read, — to become famous, like Byron, Burns, or 
Scott, whom he so passionately admired, — 0 no ! he 
would liave declared, he was not so foolish as to in- 
dulge that daring thought. 

And yet he had tried his powers. He had com- 
posed a great many rhymes while following the 
plough or hoeing his uncle’s corn, and had written 
a few prose sketches. Some of these things had got 
into print, and given him a good deal of reputation 
as a '' young contributor ” to the county newspaper. 
The editor had more than once called attention to 
the new poem by our promising young author, G. 
G.” (for George Greenwood favored the public with 
his initials only), comparing him with Pope in his 
early years, or with Chatterton, “ the marvellous boy.” 
George was rather ashamed of these compliments, 
which he greatly feared laid him open to ridicule. 
He suspected, moreover, perhaps justly, that they 
were intended as a sort of compensation for his ar- 
ticles ; for he got no other pay. Besides, he had a 
painful consciousness that the “Vanguard of Free- 
dom ” was not literature, and that its columns were 
not the place wliere laurels were to be won. 

His friends and mates, for the most part, took no 
interest in his verses. Some accused him of “ copy- 
ing out of Lord Byron.” Two or three only — includ- 
ing Vinnie — believed in him. His Uncle Presbit 
owned that “ the boy had a knack at rhymin’,” and 


12 


FAST FRIENDS. 


was rather proud of it; — no one of his Mood had 
ever before written anything which an editor had 
thought ‘^wuth printin’ in a paper.” But though 
he did not object to a little such nonsense now 
and then, hard work on the farm was the business 
of life with him, and he meant it should be so with 
his nephew, as long as they lived together. And 
hard enough he made it — hard, dry, and prosaic — 
to George, with his sensitive nature and poetic 
dreams. And so it happened that George’s trunk 
was out there on the wheelbarrow, packed with all 
his earthly possessions (including a thick roll of 
manuscripts), and that he was eating in haste the 
breakfast which Vinnie had got for him, early that 
spring morning. 

‘M was agoin’ to say,” remarked Uncle Presbit, 
again coming back to the door, “ I don’t mind payin’ 
ye wages, if ye stay an’ work for me this season.” 

“Thank you for the offer, — though it comes 
rather late ! ” said George gloomily. “ Good by. 
Aunt Presbit; you’re just in time to see me off.” 

The aunt came in, with pins in her mouth, ar- 
ranging her dress. 

“ Goin’ ? Have ye had a good breakfast ? ” she 
said, speaking out of the corner of her mouth, that 
was free from pins. 

“Yes, thanks to Vinnie,” said George, risen and 
ready to start. 

“ That means, no thanks to me. Wal, George ! ” 
— the pins were out of the mouth, which smiled in 


A YOUNG CONTRIBUTOR. 


13 


a large, coarse, good-natured way, — ''I mean better 
by ye ’n ye think ; the trouble is, ye ’ve got too fine 
notions for plain folks like us. All is, if ye git into 
trouble, jest come back here; then mabby yell find 
who yer rel friends be.” 

George was touched by this, and there was a tear 
in his eye as he shook her hand at parting. 

“ But law ! ” she added, with broad irony, if ever 
ye do come back, I s’pose ye ’ll be a rich man, and 
too proud to speak to poor folks ! Why don’t ye 
kiss him, Vinnie ? Needn’t mind me!” 

“ She is going over to the bridge with me.” And 
George took up the handles of the wheelbarrow on 
which his trunk was placed. 

Uncle Presbit, who had walked to and fro half a 
dozen times since he last appeared at the door, now 
came back and spoke what was on his mind. 

“ George,” — a cough, — “I s’pose,” — another 
cough, — Uncle Presbit pulled off his old farm hat 
with one hand, and scratched his head with the 
other, — " no doubt ye think I might ’a’ gin ye some 
money — ” 

Uncle Presbit,” said George, putting down the 
wheelbarrow, “if the work I’ve done for you the 
past nine years has paid for my board and clothes 
and schooling,” — his voice trembled a little, — “I’m 
glad — and I’m satisfied. If you had offered me 
money, I — I ” — chokingly — “ should have taken it 
as a kindness ; but I have n’t expected it, and I 
don’t know that I have deserved it.” 


14 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Uncle Presbit had put his hand into his pocket, 
but he now took it out again, and appeared greatly 
relieved. 

“ Wal ! I d’ n’ know, George ! I ’ve meant to do 
right by ye. An’ I wish ye well, I shall allers wish 
ye well, George. Good by.” 

“Good by,” said George. He repressed a bitter 
sob ; and, with his hat pulled over his eyes, taking 
up the barrow again, he wheeled it away, while Vin- 
nie walked sadly by his side. 


TAKING THE PACKET BOAT. 


15 


CHAPTER II. 

TAKING THE PACKET BOAT. 

Hot WITHSTANDING the distasteful life he had led 
at his uncle’s, George did not leave the old place 
without some parting sighs. Strangely mingled with 
his hatred of such disagreeable work as forking ma- 
nure and picking up stones, and of his uncle’s sordid 
ways, remained a genuine love of nature, and attach- 
ment to many a favorite spot. How could he forget 
the orchard, so pleasant in summer weather; the 
great woods where he had roamed and dreamed ; the 
swallow-haunted and hay-scented barn; the door- 
yard, where on Sunday afternoons he liad lain upon 
the grass and gazed up into the sky, with thoughts 
of time and space and God; and all the private 
paths and nooks which Vinnie and he had known 
together ? 

“ I take back what I said about wishing to forget 
everybody and everything but you, Vinnie ! ” he said, 
setting down his load at a little distance from the 
house, and looking back. “Shall I ever see again 
that old roof, — those trees, — this road I have trav- 
elled so many times with you on our way to school ? ” 

“ I hope so, George ! ” said Vinnie, fervently. 

“ Where shall I be a year from now ? — three — 


16 


FAST FRIENDS. 


five — ten years ? ” he continued, as if speaking aloud 
the thoughts which had been haunting him. “ I 
wonder if this isn't all a dream, Vinnie!” 

“ I should think the wheelbarrow would seem real 
enough to you,” she said with a tearful smile, as lie 
took up his load again. 

Yes ! and is n’t this a rather ridiculous way of 
leaving home ? ” George blushed as he thought how 
it would sound, in the fine Byronic “ Farewell ” he 
was composing, or in the biography which might 
some day be written ; “ On that occasion he conveyed 
his own luggage to the boat, using for the purpose 
an ancient wheelbarrow belonging to his uncle.” It 
was long before George got that little streak of ro- 
mantic vanity rubbed out of him by rude contact 
with the world. 

The road soon brought them to the bridge ; and 
under the bridge flowed (for there was always a slug- 
gish current) the waters of the canal, on which he 
was to embark. He saw the rising sun under the 
bridge, as he set down the wlieelbarrow by the tow- 
path, and removed the trunk. Vinnie was to take 
the “ little vehicle ” (so it was called in the “ Fare- 
well ”) back with her, after they had parted. 

“ I ’ve jumped off from that bridge, on to the boats 
passing under, more times than I ever shall again, 
Vinnie ! ” He remembered the way in which the 
little sum of money in his pocket had been earned, 
and wondered how that would read in his biography : 
“ He had diligently picked up a few pennies at odd 


TAKING THE PACKET BOAT. 


17 


spells, by gathering in his uncle’s orchard such fruits 
as it chanced to afford, and selling them on the canal- 
boats, upon which he stepped from a convenient 
bridge.” Such things would dart through the lad’s 
too active brain even at that moment of parting. 

They sat down, she on the trunk and he on the 
wheelbarrow, and talked a little ; though their hearts 
were so full, neither had much to say. George cast 
anxious glances up the canal ; suddenly he exclaimed, 
in a quick voice, “ There ’s the packet ! ” and clasped 
her hand. It was the boat that was to bear him 
away. The foremost of the three heavily trotting 
horses, and the head of the driver riding the last, 
appeared around the bend; then came the long, 
curving tow-line, and the trim, narrow prow cutting 
the water. George, who had many times leaped 
upon the same boat at that place, with his little 
basket of apples (it was only upon the line-boats 
that he stepped from the bridge), sprang up and gave 
a signal. The driver — who knew him, and remem- 
bered many a fine pippin handed up to him as he 
rode past, with the request, Drive slow ! ” — slack- 
ened speed, letting the tow-line dip and trail in the 
water. The steersman, who also knew George, saw 
the signal and the trunk, and headed the packet for 
the tow-path. As it was “laying-up” for him, 
George hastily bid Vinnie good by; then, as tlie 
stern swung in and rubbed gratingly against the 
bank, he caught up his trunk, threw it aboard, and 
then leaped after it. The stern swung off again, the 


18 


FAST FRIENDS. 


driver cracked his whip, the dripping line straight- 
ened, and a swiftly widening space of dingy water 
separated George standing in the stern from Yinnie 
on the shore. 

There was something romantic, after all, in his 
departure, sailing into the sunrise, which dazzled her 
as she gazed after him under her uplifted arm. He 
stood proudly erect, waving his hat towards her ; she 
fluttered her handkerchief; then another bend shut 
him out from her view. 

Poor Yinnie, standing alone on the tow-path, with 
the empty wheelbarrow, continued to gaze after him 
long after he was out of sight. A dreadful feeling 
of loss and desolation came over her, and the tears 
streamed unheeded down her cheeks. For nine 
years — even since, his parents having died, he came 
to live with his uncle — they had been daily com- 
panions. She too was an orphan, adopted in child- 
hood by the Presbits, who had no children of their 
own; and the two had grown up together like 
brother and sister. How empty life would seem 
without him ! how could she endure it ? But Yinnie 
was too brave a girl to spend much time in mourning 
over the separation. 

I must go home and get breakfast for the rest,” 
she suddenly remembered. So, drying her eyes, she 
took up the wheelbarrow, and trundled it back along 
the road. 

George felt the separation less; for he had tlie 
novelty of the journey and his own fresh hopes to 


TAKING THE PACKET BOAT. 


19 


divert and console him. It was early in the month 
of May; the morning was cool and fine. The sun 
rose through crimson bars of cloud into a sky of 
transparent silver. Birds sang sweetly in the bud- 
ding houghs that overhung the water; the lisp of 
ripples by the rushing prow blended with their 
songs. The steady, level movement of the boat, 
bearing him away to new scenes and new fortunes, 
inspired him with emotions akin to happiness. And 
he had his poem for a companion. His brain began 
to beat with rhymes. 

“ When the beams of morning fell 
On my little vehicle, 

Which by dewy hedge-rows bore 
]\Iy light luggage to the shore, 

She, still faitliful, by my side. 

Rosy-cheeked, and tender-eyed — ” 

But George immediately rejected the epithet “rosy- 
cheeked,” as out of keeping with the pathos of the 
parting scene and the passionate tone of the “Fare- 
well.” Indeed, none of the lines composed that 
morning were finally retained in that remarkable 
poem, which was pitched to the deep key of the 
surmn" winds in the dark woods, where he had 
nursed his fate-defying thoughts (after his trunk 
was packed) the night before. 


20 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE III. 

THE “OTHER BOY.” 

Finding that the stream of poetry ran shallow, 
George looked about among the passengers who 
were beginning to come on deck, and noticed a 
monstrously fat man whose bulk nearly filled the 
companion-way where he stood. 

“ Half a dozen of us little fellows will have to go 
forward, to trim the boat, if he stays aft,” said a boy- 
ish voice at George’s side. 

The speaker was a lad almost a head shorter than 
himself, and maybe a year or two younger, but with 
a bright, honest face, which expressed a good deal of 
quiet self-reliance and firmness of character. George, 
who had seen little of the world, and who lacked 
self-reliance, felt drawn at once to the owner of that 
face. 

Perceiving that he wore pretty good clothes, and a 
coat which was not a bad fit, our young poet, who 
was troubled with a painful consciousness of having 
outgrown his own garments, instinctively pulled down 
his coat-sleeves, which, as has been said, were short. 

“ He ’d better not come up on deck,” he replied in 
the same tone of pleasantry. “ He ’d go through 
these thin boards like an elephant!” 


THE “OTHER BOY.’ 


21 


The lad — whom we shall call the Other Boy — 
began to laugh. Once when I was on the canal,” 
he said, “ I saw just such a fat man on the deck of 
a line-boat, as it was coming to a bridge. 'Low 
bridge ! ’ says the steersman. It was a low bridge, 

— very low ; and the boat, having no freight, was 
very high out of the water. The fat man got down 
and lay on his back, with his feet towards the bow. 
But, gracious ! he reached almost as far up into the 
sky when, he was lying down as when he stood up. 
He saw the bridge coming, in a direction that was 
certain to cut him off about six inches below his 
waistcoat buttons. I was on the tow-path ; and I 
screamed, ' Mister ! mister ! you ’ll get killed ! ’ He 
knew it, but what could he do ? The boat could n’t 
stop, and the bridge would n’t go ! In a minute he 
would be crushed like a four-hundred-pound egg.” 

" What did he do ? ” said George. 

“ There was only one thing he could do ; for it was 
too late to get up and run aft, and he could n’t crawl 
away. He put up his feet ! I suppose he thought 
he was going to stop the boat, or maybe push the 
bridge over. But the bridge pushed him ! It was 
funny to see his eyes stick out, and hear him roar, 
' Hold on ! wait ! stop ’em ! ’ — I suppose he meant 
the horses, — as he slid along on the deck, and finally 
rolled off into the water. He went in like a whale, 

— such a splash ! He was so fat he could n’t sink ; 
but how he did splutter and blow canal water when 
he came out ! ” 


22 


FAST FRIENDS. 


The Other Boy had hardly finished his story, when 
" Bridge ! ” called the man at the helm ; and both 
boys, laughing heartily, got down on the deck, with 
the other passengers, to pass under. 

George’s new acquaintance appeared to he famil- 
iar with life on the canal, and had several such 
stories to tell. George, in his turn, became confiden- 
tial. 

I used to peddle apples on the ' big ditch,’ as we 
call it,” he said, as they sat on some light baggage 
on the deck, and looked off at the passing scenery. 
“They were my uncle’s apples, and I gave him 
half I got for them. That made him willing to let 
me have the fruit, and a half-day to myself now and 
then. I would drop on to the line-boats from the 
bridge, and — if the steersman would n’t lay up for 
me — get off at the next bridge, or on another boat. 
I was a little chap when I began, — very timid, — 
and it was .some time before I completely mastered 
the art of getting on and off. You see, it don’t do to 
jump down on the side from which the boat is com- 
ing, for the bridge might knock you over before you 
could take care of yourself. So you look for a good 
place, where there’s no freight or passengers, and 
then run to the other side, and wait till the spot 
you’ve picked out comes through, and then drop 
down, and you’re all right.” 

“ Yes, I see,” said the Other Boy. 

“Once I dropped down in such a hurry that I 
left my basket of apples on the bridge ! I got well 


THE “ OTHER BOY. 


23 


laughed at; and, what was worse,” said George, 
“when I went back, half an hour later, — for the 
steersman wouldn’t lay up, since I couldn’t give 
him an apple, and I had to jump to the first boat we 
met, — the pigs had eaten up all my apples, except a 
few which I found afioat with the basket in the 
canal. Another time I put my basket up on a 
bridge, but could n’t get up myself. I thought I 
could, though, and I hung on, jumping and kicking 



GEORGE’S LITTLE .:U)VENTURE. 


24 


FAST FRIENDS. 


in the air, while the boat passed from under me, and 
there I clung, right over the water. The boatmen 
only laughed at me. There was nobody to pull me 
up, — yelling did no good, — and I couldn’t very 
well hold on till another boat came along, with a 
good deck for me to fall on.” 

“ What did you do ? ” asked the Other Boy, highly 
amused. 

“ I dropped into the water. Luckily I could swim, 
and I got out without assistance. The boatmen 
laughed louder than ever, when they saw me, and 
that hurt my feelings.” 

‘'Just like ’em! they ’re pretty rough fellows, the 
most of ’em ! ” said the Other Boy, with the air of one 
who knew. 

“ On one boat,” George continued, “ I met with a 
series of accidents. In the 'first place, getting on, I 
was a moment late, and, instead of alighting where 
I expected, I jumped into tlie stomach of a big 
Dutchman lying on the deck, smoking his pipe. He 
started up with a grunting ‘ Hough ! hough 1 ’ — very 
much as if it had been a fat hog I had jumped on, — 
and away went I and my apples. First I picked 
myself up, and then proceeded to pick up as many of 
my apples as had n’t rolled overboard. Afterwards I 
gave all I saved, together with all my money, for a 
bill that turned out to be counterfeit. Then the 
steersman carried me off. Then, in getting up on a 
bridge,- — you have to step along on the deck, you 
know, till you can give a good jump, and you can’t 


THE “ OTHER BOY.’ 


25 


see wliere you step, — I kicked a dinner-bell off into 
the water. The cook sprang to catch me by the legs, 
and came very near going overboard after his bell. 
I was too quick for him; but I was no sooner on 
the bridge than a shower of turnips followed me. I 
think the enraged cook, the steersman, and the deck 
liands must have tlirown away half a barrel of tur- 
nips, all on my account. They went under the 
bridge, and over the bridge, and hit the bridge, but 
not one hit the mark they were aimed at, if I except 
a few lively spatters of juice and mashed pulp from 
one or two that struck the timbers disagreeably near 
to my head. As soon as I was at a good dodging 
distance, I yelled to the steersman that he’d better 
lay up for me next time. But I was careful never to 
get on that boat again.” 

The Other Boy showed a lively appreciation of 
these anecdotes. “Are you a pretty good hand at 
getting into scrapes ? ” he inquired, with a laugh, 
looking up into George’s face. 

“ Fair,” replied George. “ Are you ? ” 

“ Terrible 1 ” said the Other Boy. “ You never saw 
such a fellow. If you are like me, we ’d better not 
be together much, or nobody knows what may 
happen. Two Jonahs in one boat!” 

“ But do you get out of your scrapes ? ” asked 
George. 

0 yes ! that ’s the fun of it.” 

“Then I’ll risk you. But how happens it that 
you know so much about the canal ? ” 

2 


26 


FAST FRIENDS. 


I was brought up on it/’ said the Other Boy. 

You mean near it — on its banks ? ” 

“No; on the canal itself/’ — with a quiet smile. 
“You see, I was a driver once.” 

George was astonished. “ You ! I should n’t have 
thought it ! ” 

“It seems odd to me now,” said the Other Boy, 
looking thoughtful for a moment. “ I can hardly 
believe that, only two years ago, I was travelling this 
very tow-path, one of the roughest little drivers you 
ever saw 1 ” 

“ You must have had a streak of luck ! ” George 
suggested, regarding his new acquaintance with fresh 
interest. 

“I’ve had some good friends ! ” said the Other 
Boy. 

“How far are you going ?” 

“ To New York.” 

George started, and drew still nearer the Other 
Boy. “ To stay ? ” 

“ I don’t know. I am going on a strange sort of 
business ; I mean to stay till I ’ve finished that.” 

“ I am going to New York,” then said George. 

“ Good 1 ” exclaimed the Other Boy. “ Let ’s go 
there together.” 


THE JOURNEY AND AN ADVENTURE. 


27 


CHAPTEE IV. 

THE JOURNEY AND AN ADVENTURE! 

That afternoon they arrived at Syracuse, where 
they changed boats, taking another packet for Utica. 
They slept on hoard that night, in little berths made 
up against the sides of the narrow cabin, much like 
the berths in a modern sleeping-car. Changing boats 
again the next day at Utica, they continued their 
journey, passing through the Mohawk Valley, and 
found themselves in Schenectady on the following 
morning. 

This was the end of the packet’s route ; and here, 
after breakfast, they took the cars for Troy and Al- 
bany, over one of the oldest railroads in the country. 
It was a new experience to the two boys, neither of 
whom had ever ridden in a railroad car before. This, 
we must remember, was nearly thirty years ago; 
since which time passenger-boats, once so common 
on the canal, have disappeared, and become almost 
forgotten. 

At noon they arrived at Albany ; and there George 
wished to spend a couple of days, while the Other 
Boy, who had seen enough of the city when he was 
a driver, and whose business seemed urgent, w'as for 
taking a steamer down the Hudson that night. 


28 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Finally George agreed that, if his new friend would 
stay with him in Albany until the next morning, he 
would then take the steameT with him, and they 
would go down the river by daylight. 

They saw the city that afternoon, — the Other Boy 
acting as guide, — slept at a cheap public house, and 
got up early the next morning in order to take the 
boat. 

There were two lines of New York steamers at 
that time, “ running opposition ” ; and when the boys 
reached the wharf they were beset by runners for the 
rival lines, who caught hold of them, jabbering, and 
dragging them this way and that, in a manner which 
quite confused George, until he saw how cool and 
self-possessed the Other Boy was. 

“See here!” cried the latter, sharply, “just keep 
your hands off ! Let go that trunk, I say I ” It was 
George’s trunk ; his friend had only a valise. “ Now, 
wdiat will you take us for ? ” 

“ Eegular fare, dollar and a half,” said one ; “ take 
ye for a dollar.” 

“ Go on our boat for seventy-five cents ! ” shouted 
the other. 

“ Half a dollar ! ” roared the first. 

“ A quarter ! ” shrieked the second. 

“All right,” said the Other Boy. “We can’t do 
better than that ; — although,” he added afterwards, 
“ if we had kept the two fellows bidding against each 
other a little longer, no doubt one of ’em would have 
given us something for going in his boat I ” 


THE JOURNEY AND AN ADVENTURE. 


29 


They had got their baggage safely aboard, and 
were standing near the gangway, amid a group of 
passengers, when somebody said, “ What ’s the matter 
with that man ? ” George turned, and saw a well- 
dressed person staggering towards them, holding one 
hand to his head, and reaching out convulsively with 
the other, on which (he remembered afterwards) glit- 
tered a diamond ring. 

“ Take me ! ” gasped the man. I shall fall ! ” 

While George, struck with astonishment, hesitated 
a moment, not for want of humanity, but because he 
lacked decision, the Other Boy sprang promptly to 
support the stranger. 

“ Help ! ” said he. “ I can’t hold him ! ” And in 
an instant George was at the stranger’s other side. 
The man reeled about frightfully, and finally leaned 
his whole weight upon the boys, his body swaying, 
and his arms clutching their sides. At the same 
time two other gentlemen crowded close to them, 
crying, “ What ails him ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said the Other Boy. “ Ease him 
down on the trunks here.” 

“ Ho, no ! ” gasped out the suffering gentleman. 
“ Take me ashore ! I ’m not going in the boat. I 
shall be all right.” 

As he appeared to recover himself a little, declar- 
ing presently that his faintness had passed, and that 
he could walk, the two boys helped him to the wharf, 
where he thanked them warmly for their kindness. 
They left him leaning against a cab, and had just 


30 


FAST FRIENDS. 


time to leap aboard again when the bridge was 
hauled in, the great paddles began to revolve, and 
the boat started. 

He ’s all right,” cried the Other Boy, with satis- 
faction. Just think, he might have got carried off! 
How, where’s the man who promised to get us our 
tickets ? ” 

See here ! ” said George, feeling in his pocket, 
“ pay for mine when you get yours, will you ? ” Bor 
George shrank from the responsibility of pushing 
into the crowd and making change. 

^‘All right,” said the Other Boy. “What’s the 
matter with you ? ” 

George stood, a picture of consternation, feeling 
first in one pocket, then in another, then in both. 

“ My pocket-book ! ” he said hoarsely. 

The Other Boy comprehended the situation at 
once, and, thrusting his hands into his own pockets, 
became another picture of consternation, to match his 
friend. 

“ My purse ! That rascal ! ” he cried, springing to 
the gangway. 

He looked for the sick man leaning by the cab. 
He had disappeared. The steamer was already forty 
yards from the wharf. And there were our two 
youthful adventurers, embarked for the great un- 
known city in a crowd of passengers among whom 
they had not a friend, and without money enough 
about them to pay their fares even at “ opposition ” 
rates. 


A BAD FIX.’ 


31 


CHAPTEE V. 

''A BAD FIX.” 

" Let us off ! put us ashore ! ” cried George, rush- 
ing hither and thither. “ Where ’s the captain of this 
boat ? ” he shouted, furiously. 

“ Hush your noise ! ” said the Other Boy, catching 
him by the coat-tail, and trying to hold him. “ Be 
quiet, I tell you.” 

“ Be quiet ? when that pickpocket has got my 
money ? ” George retorted, with uncontrollable excite- 
ment. “ I can’t go to Hew York without money ! ” 
“You can’t go ashore either,” said the Other Boy. 
“ I will, if I have to swim ! ” 

“ And leave your trunk aboard ? ” 

George had n’t thought of his trunk. “ But I ’m 
ruined ! ” 

“ So am I,” said the Other Boy, with a self-mastery 
quite in contrast with George’s agitation. “But 
what ’s the use of making a ridiculous fuss ? Don’t 
you see everybody ’s laughing at us ? ”• 

There was too much truth in that. Hot that the 
spectators were heartless; but, really, the aspect of 
our tall young poet rushing wildly about, bewailing 
liis loss, shrieking for tlie captain, and demanding in 
an agony of despair to be put ashore, — his hat fallen 


32 


FAST FRIENDS. 


back on his head, his hair tumbled, and his hands 
stretching far out of his short coat-sleeves, — was too 
ludicrous not to move the mirth of the most sympa- 
thizing breast. 

George, perceiving the justness of the remark, and 
being sensitive to ridicule, calmed himself a little. 

“ But what shall we do ? ” he implored. 

“ That ’s more than I know ! ” replied the Other 
Boy, despairingly ; “ but tearing around in this fash- 
ion won’t help matters. You can’t expect the steam- 
boat will put back just to land us ! And I would n’t 
go back if I could.” 

‘‘ Why not ? ” 

“ What would be the use ? There would n’t be one 
chance in a thousand of getting our money again, 
even if we should catch the pickpocket.” 

“ The youngster is right,” said a plain old gentle- 
man, who had been carefully observing the boys. 

The two men who crowded so close to you when 
you were holding the one in a fit, were probably his 
accomplices. You noticed they stayed ashore too, 
did n’t you ? There ’s no knowing which of ’em took 
your money, or which has it now. It ’s probably di- 
vided by this time. The fit was, of course, a sham, a 
trick to lay hold of you, and get at your pockets.” 

“ I had twenty-nine dollars ! ” said George, in dole- 
ful accents, remembering how long he had been lay- 
ing up that little sum, which seemed so large a sum 
to him. 

‘"And I had forty !” said the Other Boy, ruefully; 


A BAD FIX.”^ 


33 


“ it was all I could scrape together for my journey. 
Now, what I am going to do, I don’t know any more 
than you do. But I ’d rather be in New York than 
ill Albany. There ’s a better chance of finding some- 
thing to do there. Besides, that ’s where my business 
is, at any rate.” 

George began to recover his spirits. Perhaps he 
remembered the manuscripts in his trunk. 

“But,” he objected, “/ haven’t a cent! I can’t 
even pay my passage ! ” 

“ Nor I. And I don’t believe the clerk will be so 
unreasonable as to expect us to, when he knows the 
circumstances. The best way will be to go straight 
to the office and tell him.” 

George agreed that that would be the most frank 
and honorable course. But first they looked for a 
man to whom the runner had introduced them, and 
who had engaged that they should have their tickets 
at the reduced rates. In searching for him they 
learned that tickets were selling to everybody at 
twenty-five cents, “ for that day only ” ; so they con- 
cluded to go without him. 

There was a large crowd pressing towards the 
office, and it was some time before they, in their turn, 
arrived at the window. 

“Twenty-five cents,” said the clerk, who stood 
ready to shove them their tickets, and sweep back 
their money. 

“ We liave had our pockets picked,” said the Otlier 
Boy. 


2 * 


G 


34 


FAST FRIENDS. 


‘'Just as tlie boat left the wharf/’ added George, 
over his shoulder. 

“Twenty-five cents!” repeated the clerk, firmly. 
“If you haven’t any money, pass along, and make 
room for them that have.” 

“But,” the Other Boy remonstrated, “we have 
been robbed, and we thought, certainly — ” 

“ How many ? ” said the clerk to the next comer. 
“ Four tickets, one dollar.” And he pushed out the 
tickets, and drew in the dollar, then attended to the 
next man. He appeared to have no more feeling for 
our unlucky boys than if he had been a machine. 

“Never mind!” said the Other Boy, with a stern 
smile, his face slightly flushed. “ It ’s a bad fix ; but 
we are bound for New York ! ” 

George’s face was very much flushed. His feet 
were cold as ice. All his vital forces seemed to have 
rushed to his head to see what the matter was, and 
to press their assistance at an alarming crisis. It 
was like an impetuous crowd of citizens rushing to 
defend a breach in the walls, where a handful of dis- 
ciplined troops would render much better service. 
Such excessive excitability is, no doubt, a defect of 
character, until it has been mastered by a wise head 
and firm will, when what was before a source of 
weakness becomes an element of strength. 

George envied his companion the self-control he 
was able to preserve on such an occasion ; and he re- 
membered, with shame, some too valorous lines in 
his “ Farewell.” 


A BAD Fix: 


35 


“Fare thee well, thou mighty forest ! 

While with battling winds thou warrest, 

Forth my stonn-defying vessel , 

(Ribs of kindred oak) I steer, 

With the gales of fate to wrestle. 

As thou strivest with them here 1 

“ Let the tempest drive and pour ! 

Let the thunders rave and roar ! 

Let the black vault yawn above, 

Lightning riven ! 

Naught my steadfast star shall move 
From its heaven ! ” 

Thus he had written, and thus he had felt (or fan- 
cied he felt), the night before his departure from 
home. And now, here he was, thrown into a flurry 
of excitement by the loss of a paltry pocket-book ! 

“We may as well take it easy,” said the Other 
Boy ; and they went forward to some piles of rope at 
the bow, where they ensconced themselves, and sat 
watching the bright waters rushing past, and the 
scenery on the shores, and talked over the situation. 

“ Now, let ’s look this thing square in the face, and 
see just what our prospects are, and if there is any 
way out of the scrape.” 

George replied that he could not see any possible 
way out. 

“You’ve the advantage over me,” said the Other 
Boy. “You’re going to the city to stay, — to earn 
money. I was n’t intending to stop there long. I * 
expected to spend money, — not to earn any. And 
now I have n’t a dime to spend ! You see, I ’m in 
an awful scrape.” 


36 


FAST FRIENDS. 


" You are ; that ’s a fact ! ” said George, sympathet- 
ically, yet secretly comforted by the thought that 
his own bad luck was not the worst. And he added, 
“We ought to stick together, anyhow, and help each 
other if we can.” 

“ I ’m not the fellow to say no to that ! ” laughed 
the Other Boy. “ I promise to stand by you as long 
as you ’ll stand by me.” 

“Then we are fast friends,” exclaimed George, 
warmly. “ Whatever comes, — good luck or bad 
luck, — we ’ll suffer and share alike, if you say so.” 

And having made this compact, both boys felt 
their hearts lightened. Not only does misery love 
company, but our courage to confront a frowning and 
uncertain future is more than doubled by the trust 
inspired by a friend at our side. 


HOW THE BOYS PAID THEIR FARE. 


37 


CHAPTEE VI. 

HOW THE BOYS PAID THEIR FARE. 

While they were talking, a stout man, with an 
official air, came along and asked if they were the 
fellows who couldn’t pay their fare. 

“ We had our pockets picked just as we came 
aboard,” began George, “ and we have n’t any money ; 
and we — ” 

" I know the rest,” interrupted the man : you 
needn’t tell it.” 

You saw the operation ? ” said George, eagerly. 

“ No. But I ’ve heard the story rather too many 
times ; no danger of my forgetting it ! ” 

“ From the passengers ? ” said George, who, simple- 
hearted and inexperienced, was too much inclined to 
take every sober man’s word in earnest. But the 
Other Boy detected sarcasm in the man’s cold tone 
of voice. 

“ From just such fellows as you,” replied the man. 

It ’s a fine excuse for shirking your fares, — you ’ve 
lost your money, or had your pockets picked, — the 
same thing; one story’s as good as another; and 
neither will go down with me.” 

George looked aghast ; while the Other Boy spoke 
up quickly, — 


38 


FAST FRIENDS. 


"Plenty of people saw the pickpockets take our 
money ; and if you don’t believe us — ” 

"I’ll believe you as soon as I’ll believe a man 
who says he saw a pickpocket take your money, and 
didn’t report him on the spot. He’s no better than 
a pickpocket himself” 

The boys felt the force of this argument; and, in- 
deed, how could any spectator know that they had 
not been playing a game, in order to make it appear 
that they were robbed ? Although one must have 
allowed that, at least, George’s consternation at his 
loss was either very real, or very well acted indeed. 

"We tell you the truth!” said George, with a sin- 
cerity that ought to have been convincing. 

"And if you won’t believe us, or those persons 
who saw the whole affair,” added his companion, 
falling back upon a certain stubbornness, and defi- 
ance of the worst, which were marked traits in his 
character, " I don’t know what you ’ll do about it.” 

" That ’s simple enough,” replied the man. " You 
pay your fares or you ’ll be put ashore at the next 
landing.” He turned away, but paused, and added 
in the same business-like tone, " You ’ve no baggage, 
of course.” 

" Yes, we have baggage,” said George. 

The man appeared a little suprised. Ho doubt it 
was unusual for such tricksters as he took them for 
to he encumbered with luggage, but he did not relent. 

"You ’d better get it ready,” he said. "You’ll be 
put off at Hudson, and you won’t want to go without 
your traps.” 


HOW THE BOYS PAID THEIR FARE. 


39 


" This is lovely ! ” said the Other Boy, knitting his 
brows and compressing his lips, while his companion 
was simply confounded. 

“ We don’t want to be left at Hudson, or any other 
place ! ” George said, pale with alarm. 

“ Only twenty-five cents ! Just think of it !” ex- 
claimed the Other Boy, with a laugh which did not 
have an overfiowing amount of mirth in it. “ That ’s 
too absurd ! They never T1 do it ! ” 

“ I ’m afraid they will ! Why not ? ” asked George. 

They T1 threaten us, to make us fork over our 
fares if we have any money, of course; but when 
they find we have n’t, they can’t be so mean ! Be- 
sides, the passengers who saw the affair will interfere. 
I ’m not going ashore at Hudson ! Come ! we ’ll find 
some of them. There ’s that old gentleman ! ” 

He was the same who had spoken to the boys 
before. He now listened kindly to their story, and 
said, — • 

“ ^ 0 , I don’t think they will really put you off the 
boat ; but you can’t blame them for being a little 
suspicious of you, there are so many rogues trying 
all the while to cheat them out of their fares.” 

“ And so we, who are innocent, must suffer because 
there are impostors ! ” exclaimed George, indignantly. 

“ Yes, that ’s the way it works. If everybody was 
honest,” said the old gentleman, “then we should 
have no cause to lock our doors or shut our ears to 
the appeals of the unfortunate. So you see how un- 
comfortable liars and knaves make the world for us. 


40 


FAST FRIENDS. 


But I think T know honest hoys when I see them, 
and I am satisfied you tell the truth. It ’s a small 
matter, and I may save you some trouble by lending 
you the amount of your fares.” 

Oh 1 ” said both boys at once. ^ 

The old gentleman handed them half a dollar,' 
saying, How you need n’t give yourselves any 
trouble about it; but when it is perfectly conven- 
ient you may repay me. Here is my card.” 

The boys thanked him as well as they could, — 
the tongue never can speak what the heart feels at 
such times, — and George said, — 

" I wish you would go with us, sir, and tell that 
man that you lent us the money, for I don’t want 
him to think we had it in our pockets all the time.” 

“ That ’s natural,” said the old gentleman ; and, as 
they soon met the officer coming towards them again, 
he accosted him, and, standing by the boys, explained 
why they w^ere then able to pay their fares, and bo/e 
his testimony to their honesty. 

I ’m glad you are satisfied,” replied the man. 
and I hope you ’ll see your money again !^’ 

“ I ’m sure I shall, if they are prospered,” said the 
old gentleman, with a smile. “ By the way, boys, I 
believe I neglected to take your names.” 

‘^Mine is George Greenwood'" 

*‘And mine,” said the Other Boy, as the old 
gentleman began to write in his note-book, — mine 
is John H. Chatford"' 


THE OTHER BOY’S STORY. 


41 


CHAPTEE VIL 

THE OTHER BOY’S STORY. 

^^You haven’t told me yet,” said George, as he 
walked back with his friend to their seat in the bow, 
what you are going to New York for. You said it 
was a strange business.” 

“ That ’s the reason ; it ’s so very strange I ’m 
almost afraid to speak of it ! But it ’s about time 
for us to begin to be frank with each other, — don’t 
you think so ? — if we are to be fast friends.” 

“ Certainly ! ” said George, who had not yet, how- 
ever, said a word to his new acquaintance about the 
poems he had written, or his secret literary hopes. 
There are boys — and men too — who, in almost the 
first hour of their intercourse with you, will tell you 
of everything they have done, and of all they propose 
to do, with no more reserve tlian a cackling fowl. 
George, on the other hand, was quite too shy of 
making confidants, being genuinely modest and self- 
contained, and too little of an egotist to imagine 
everybody else interested in his schemes. But he 
was beginning to think he would tell his friend 
something, and he longed to hear his story. 

" You noticed,” said the Other Boy, “ that I gave 
my name as Cliatford to the old gentleman, but that 


42 


FAST FRIENDS. 


is not my real name. The H. stands for Hazard, — 
Jack Hazard is the name I generally go by, but Mr. 
Chatforcl is the man I live with, and he is just like 
a father to me, and as I never knew any own father, 
I ’ve lately taken his name.” 

You said you were a driver on the canal once.” 

Yes ; the canal is almost the first thing I can 
remember. I Ve some recollection of a woman who 
called herself my mother; her name was Hazard; 
she married old Captain Jack Berrick, who ran a 
scow, and who made a driver of me as soon as I was 
big enough to toddle on the tow-path and carry a 
whip. You can imagine what sort of a bringing-up 
I had ! Ho schooling to speak of ; the worst sort 
of companions, — dirt and rags and profanity ! ” 

“You perfectly astonish me !” said George. 

“ Mother Hazard died in the mean while, and Cap- 
tain Jack had taken another woman in her place. 
Molly Berrick was a good-hearted creature enough, 
and many a time she took my part against old Jack, 
who used to beat me when he was drunk. But she 
was a little too fond of the brown jug herself, — one 
of those low, ignorant women you scarcely meet with 
anywhere except on the canal.” 

“ How did you ever get away from such people ? ” 
“I ran away. Old Jack knocked me down and 
threw me overboard one evening, and I crept out on 
the shore into some bushes, and then cut for my life. 
After some curious adventures I found a home with 
the Chatfords, — just the best people that ever lived, 


THE OTHER BOY’S STORY. 


43 


— at Peacli Hill Farm. A niece of theirs, Miss Fel- 
ton, now Mrs. Percy Lanman, kept the district school, 
and gave me private lessons, and corrected my bad 
language, and encouraged me in every way to im- 
prove my mind and my manners. I can never tell 
you how much I owe to her and my other good 
friends,” added J ack, in a faltering voice. “ Then I 
went to school the next winter to the man she after- 
wards married, — a fine teacher and a splendid fellow! 
Besides, I Ve been a good deal with her brother, For- 
rest Felton, who is a surveyor and a music teacher, 
and I’ve learned ever so many things of him, and 
from the books he has lent me. Then, again, last 
winter w'e had a good teacher, and I ’ve read and 
studied at home at odd spells.” 

“ How did you get your money ? ” George in- 
quired. 

‘Mn various ways. In the first place I took a 
sugar-bush with Moses Chatford, and we made a 
little out of that. Then we took some land to work, 
and last year raised a crop of wheat. Then I had a 
horse. It ’s curious how I came by him. I ’ll tell 
you all about it some time, and any number of 
scrapes I’ve been in, and about my dog Lion, and 
the ’Lectrical ’Lixir man, and the Pipkins, — the 
funniest couple, — and Pliin Chatford, and Byron 
Dinks and his school, and his old uncle Peternot, 
and the treasure the old man and I had a fight over, 
and Constable Sellick, and how I got away from him 
by swimming through a culvert under the canal, 


44 


FAST FRIENDS. 


and plenty of other things that would make a pretty 
thick book if they were all put into a story.* But 
I’m telling you now about this journey.” 

“And how you raised the money for it/’ said 
George, who, though a couple of years older, had yet 
been able to save less than Jack, and who wondered 
how any farm-boy could become possessed of so 
much. 

“You see,” replied Jack, “Deacon Chatford has 
been very liberal with us boys. He believes that 
is the right way to encourage us. He finds we do 
twice as much work, and like it ever so much better, 
and care less about spending our money foolishly, 
when we have an interest in what we ’re doing.” 

“And you like farming?” said George, wonder- 

ingly- 

“ Better than I like anything, except surveying.” 

“ I hate farming ! ” exclaimed the young poet, with 
a look of intense disgust. 

“ May be that ’s partly owing to the way you ’ve 
been put to it. Besides,” said Jack, “ I don’t believe 
all boys have a natural liking for the same thing. I 
was made for a stirring out-door life ; I like to see 
work going on, and to have something to say about 
it. I ’d like well enough to be a farmer all my 
days ; but I ’d like better still to be a civil engi- 
neer, or something of that kind. You, I fancy 

* For a full account of these adventures, see the preceding stories of 
this series : “Jack Hazard and his Fortunes,” “A Chance for 
Himself,” and “Doing His Best.” 


THE OTHER BOY’S STORY. 


45 


now, have a turn for something else. What do you 
take to?” 

“ I ’ll tell you some time, perhaps,” said George, 
with a blush. “ But let ’s have your story now.” 

“ Well, when I saw that I was going to travel, — 
you see, I couldn’t very well help myself, such a 
strange thing had happened, — I just counted up my 
savings, and found that out of my sugar-money, and 
my wheat-money, and what Forrest Felton had paid 
me for helping him survey land, I had salted down, 
as they say, only about twenty-six dollars ; for I 
buy my own books and clothes now, you know. 
That could n’t be depended on, of course, for such a 
journey as I might have to make ; it wouldn’t much 
more than take me to New York and back. So I 
went to Mr. Chatford, and borrowed all the money 
he could spare, — twenty-five dollars, — on pretty 
good security. He keeps my horse. He’s one of 
the kindest men to his dumb beasts, and I am sure 
Snowfoot will have good care. Then there is my 
winter wheat, — for Moses and I have a crop grow- 
ing, did I tell you ? And now,” added Jack, “ to 
think of all my own money, and what I had bor- 
rowed — ” He clinched his hand and struck the 
pile of rope a sudden blow. “ Hanging is too good for 
such pickpockets. Common thieving is bad enough, 
anyway ; but to have a man take advantage of your 
good impulses, and steal your purse while you are 
doing an act of humanity, — or suppose you are — ” 
Jack almost choked with a sense of the wrong, 


46 


FAST FRIENDS. 


then he went on, more calmly : “ The purse was one 
Mrs. Lanman knit and gave me before she was mar- 
ried. I had it stolen from me once before, but got it 
again ; I ’ll tell you about it some time. But there ’s 
rro chance of my ever seeing it again, now ! ” 

“You don’t know about that; stranger things 
have happened,” said George, who seemed to take 
this misfortune more calmly than Jack, now that the 
first excitement was over. 

“Well,” said Jack, “the money is gone, — yours 
as well as mine, — and we shall be in New York this 
evening, and to-morrow is Sunday ! — have you 
thought of that ? — and if we don’t hit upon some 
way of raising the wind, we shall have to camp down 
at night in a coal-shed, or creep into an old hogshead 
or dry -goods box ; — that won’t be so hard for me as 
for you ; I ’ve done it before. But how about some- 
thing to eat ? Never mind,” Jack added, seeing that 
he had brought a deeply anxious and gloomy look 
into his friend’s face ; “ I ’ve been in worse scrapes, 
and I bet we ’ll find some way out of this. We ’ve 
all day to think of it. And — I started to tell you 
what I ’m going to New York for. Somehow, I can’t 
make up my mind to that. ” 

“ Here ’s Hudson, where we were going to be put 
off!” exclaimed George. 

The boys watched the steamboat’s approach to the 
landing, and wondered how it would really have 
seemed to be put ashore there, and what they would 
have done ; then Jack continued his story. 


THE OTHER BOY’S STORY. 


47 


“ It was last Saturday, — only a week ago to-day, 
though it seems months, I ’ve lived such a life since 
then ! — I was coming home from the Basin, walking 
down the canal, on the heel-path, when I overtook an 
old scow, moving scarcely faster than the current. 
Now, I take a pretty lively interest in scows ; and 
Ihn always looking to see if my old square-toed friend 
is among them. You see, a fellow can’t help a sort 
of curious feeling for what was once his home, even 
though it ’s nothing but an old floating hovel on the 
canal. ‘ Be it ever so humble,’ as the song says, — 
and so forth. Well, this did n’t happen to be Ber- 
rick’s boat; but as I was watching it, I thought I 
saw, at the stern, a face I knew, — a haggard wo- 
man’s face, without a bonnet. I was n’t quite certain ; 
but I lifted my cap and bowed. At that she stared. 

“ ‘Jack Hazard,’ says she, ‘ is that you ? ’ 

“ ‘ Yes, Molly 1 ’ I said, ‘ I ’m Jack. How are you, 
and what ’s the news ? ’ 

No good news for me, since you left us, Jack !’ 
says she. 

‘“You’ve swapped boats,’ I said. ‘Where’s Cap- 
tain Jack ?’ 

“ ‘ Berrick has left the canal, and he ’s left me ! ’ 
says she. ‘Jack, come aboard here! I want to see 
ye, and tell ye something, — something I never 
could tell ye as long as I was with old Jack.’ 

“That excited me a little; for I felt something 
unusual was coming. I had always known that 
Berrick and Molly kept a secret from me, and had 


48 


FAST FRIENDS. 



MOLLY AND JACK. 


thought a thousand times 
since I left them that I 
would give anything to 
know what it was. 

“ I was for getting 
aboard at once, but the 
scow was loaded, and could n’t get over to the heel- 
])ath, and I had to run down a quarter of a mile to a 
bridge, and then, crossing over, go up and meet her 
on the other side. She laid up, and I jumped on, 
and shook hands with Molly, and asked what she 
liad to tell me. 


THE OTHER BOY’S STORY. 


49 


‘ 0 Jack !’ says she, ' I ’m sick, and I sha’ n’t be 
able to make many trips more, unless I get better ; 
and I ’m so glad I ’ve seen you ; for it ’s troubled me 
that I ’ve had a secret which you ought to know. 
Berrick kept it from you, for fear of losing his con- 
trol of you ; and after you got free of him, he said, 
“ What ’s the use of telling the boy now ? it ’ll do no 
good; and he may come back to us yet.” But I 
knew you wouldn’t come back.’ 

** Just then, she was taken with a fit of coughing, 
and had to go down to the cabin for some medicine. 
She beckoned to me to follow her. I went down, 
and — I never could begin to tell you how I felt, 
waiting for her to stop coughing and tell me the 
secret! You see, I knew it was something about 
myself. I told her so. 

“ ' Yes, Jack,’ says she, as soon as she could speak ; 
* that other woman, — Berrick’s other wife, — the 
widder Hazard, that was, — she was n’t your own 
mother. Jack ! ’ 

“That was just what I thought was coming; for, 
you know, I had more than half suspected as much 
for a long time, — I can hardly tell why. Things 
seem to be in the air sometimes, and you breathe 
them in. But to hear Molly speak out what I had 
only felt might he gave me an awful shock. 

“ ‘ Then who vjas my mother ? ’ I said. 

“‘Tliat I don’t know,’ says she. 'Berrick don’t 
know. The widder Hazard picked you up in the 
streets of New York. She did n’t steal you, — she 


50 


FAST FEIENDS. 


was n’t the sort of woman to do that/ says Molly ; 
" she was good-hearted, hut without much prudence 
or conscience, I guess. You was crying in the 
streets, — a little fellow three or four years old, — 
a lost child. She took you, and was going to give 
you to a policeman, but she did n’t meet one all the 
way down the street from Broadway to the North 
Elver. She was cook on board a lake boat that was 
going up the river that night. She was a motherly 
creature, and you cried yourself to sleep in her 
bosom, and as she had lately lost a little boy, she fell 
in love with you.’ 

“ ' But did n’t she try to find my parents ? ’ I said. 

M ’m afraid she did n’t do what she ought to have 
done,’ says Molly. ‘ That night the boat was taken 
in tow by a steamer, and came up the river, and then 
made her trip on the canal and around the lakes, and 
it was weeks before she ever got back to New York 
again ; and when she did. Ma’am Hazard was n’t 
with her. She had fallen in with Berrick and mar- 
ried him. You kept her name of Hazard, but you 
was called Jack after the old man.’ 

I asked how Molly knew all this, for if it was 
from Berrick I would n’t believe a word of it, he ’s 
such a liar. But she said she had the story from 
Mother Hazard herself. 

‘ I was with her the spring she died, when you 
was about seven,’ says slie, ‘ and she gave you into 
my charge, and told me to find your parents. But 
that Captain Jack never would let me do. He took 


THE OTHER BOY’S STORY. 


51 


US both on the scow that summer, and the very next 
summer you began to drive the team.’ 

“ She could n’t tell where Berrick was ; she only 
knew that he sold the scow last winter, and went 
down to New York. Mother Hazard told her I had 
yellow curls, and wore a pink frock, white stockings, 
and red morocco shoes, when she picked me up, and 
that was all I could learn. You can imagine how 
excited I was 1 

And this,” said Jack, “ is what has sent me off to 
New York. Mr. Chatford said all he could to dis- 
suade me, and finally lent me the money, for he saw 
I was bound to make the journey. I am going to 
hunt up my relations.” 


52 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 

GEORGE OPENS HIS HEART AND HIS TRUNK. 

“ How do you expect to find your relations ? You 
have no clew,” said George. 

“ No,” replied Jack, but I must have been adver- 
tised, and had a reward offered for me, when Mother 
Hazard w^as taking me up the river. I mean to hunt 
through the newspapers of a dozen or thirteen years 
ago, and if I find the advertisement of a lost child 
with yellow curls, pink frock, and so forth, I shall be 
pretty sure I am that child. That’s my business. 
Nothing else could have sent me away from so good 
a home at such a time.” 

“ You ’ll be better off than I, if you find your rela- 
tions,” said George, almost enviously ; “ they ’ll give 
you money if you need it.” 

That ’s just what I meant to avoid,” said Jack ; 
“ I ’rn not going on this expedition for any selfish 
purpose. I took all the money I could raise, so as 
to be independent of my relations, if I should find 
them. I felt that I ought to hunt them up. Think 
what grief and anxiety they must have suffered on 
my account, — lost in the streets of a great city and 
never heard from ! Besides, I wish to satisfy myself 
and know who my relations are. Now think of my 


GEORGE OPENS HIS HEART AND HIS TRUNK. 53 

landing in i^’ew York witliont a shilling in my 
pocket ! ” 

Again Jack gave vent to his wrath against the 
thieves who had robbed them. Then, turning sud- 
denly, he looked George full in the face. 

“ Come ! now tell me your plans.” 

“ Mine ? Oh ! — I — ” George stammered and 
blushed again. 

“Yes. You’ve something in view. It’s one of 
those things that float in the air,” said Jack ; “ I feel 
it. You need n’t try to make me think you have n’t 
some scheme you hope to put through.” 

“ But it ’s so uncertain,” hesitated George. 

“ No matter. So is my business. So is almost 
everything in this world. But don’t tell me, if you 
don’t want to. I thought perhaps you would like to 
have me know of it, since we ’ve got to work to- 
gether, — fast friends, you know.” 

George drummed on the deck with his foot, and 
cast down his eyes like a guilty wretch, as he said, 
still blushing, — 

“ I ’ve — got — some — poems — in my trunk.” 

“ Books ? ” queried Jack. 

“ N-o-o. Y-yes. I ’ve got some books of poetry. 
You ’ve seen some of them. But I don’t mean those. 
I mean verses, — manuscripts.” 

“ Copied ? ” said J ack. 

“No.” George gained courage and looked his com- 
panion in the face, with trustful, deep blue eyes, full 
of truth. “ Some I composed myself.” 


54 


FAST FRIENDS. 


You ! A poet ? ” 

I hope so ; at any rate I make verses enough,” 
replied George, with a smile of singular sweetness, 
and a certain inspired look, which gave Jack a new 
insight into his character. 

Jack was hugely astonished. “ There was some- 
thing about you, — I wondered what it was. I see 
now ! A poet ! Why did n’t I think of that ? ” 

“ Don’t speak so loud,” said George, in a low tone. 

“ You must show me your poetry,” Jack continued. 

“ I will, some time.” 

But what are you going to do with it in New 
York ? ” 

“ I will tell you what I have never breathed to a 
living soul ! not even to Vinnie ! ” said George. 
“ It ’s only a vague idea in my mind, and I think, 
very likely, it will come to nothing ; for I ’m not a 
very big fool ! I shall try to have my poetry printed 
in a volume.” 

“ And get some money for it ? ” 

George was almost ashamed to own that his muse 
was so sordid ; But even a poet must have bread,” 
he explained. 

“But can you sell verses in that way ?” said Jack. 
“Won’t you be obliged to wait till the book sells be- 
fore you get your money for it ? ” 

“If I do,” George answered, “I hope, in the mean 
while, to print in the newspapers something I ina\ 
get pay for. I know some wilters are paid.” 

“ Have you ever printed anything ? ” 


GEORGE OPENS HIS HEART AND HIS TRUNK. 55 


“0, yes; pieces in the Vanguard, — our county 
newspaper.” 

Jack looked with awe and admiration upon a 
young poet whose verses had actually seen the light 
of print. 

“ Show me some of those pieces ! ” 

" I had them cut out ; they were in my pocket- 
book. I wonder if the thieves will read them ! ” said 
George. “ I ’ll get some of the pieces out of my 
trunk, if you like,” he proposed, encouraged by Jack’s 
interest and sympathy. 

Jack accompanied his friend, to help him get at 
his trunk. A mass of manuscript was soon un- 
earthed from under a pile of books and shirts. 

“ You won’t want to read many of these now,” said 
George. “Here is ‘ Golboda : a Eomance of the 
African Coast.’ You might begin with that. It’s 
in the style of the ' Lady of the Lake.’ Then, here 
is ‘ Mo-da- wee-kah : an Indian Tale,’ in irregular me- 
tre, something like Byron’s ‘Siege of Corinth,’ and 
‘Parisina.’ I haven’t decided which I shall make 
the leading poem of my volume ; I should like your 
opinion. Then, here are ‘Fugitive Leaves,’ — songs 
and ballads and fragments.” 

“And did you write all these ? ” said Jack, won- 
deringl}^, as he turned the pages. “ How could you 
ever do it ? ” 

“ 0, it ’s the easiest thing in the world ! I com- 
posed the whole of ‘ Mo-da-wee-kah ’ while ploughing 
our summer fallow, and wrote down, each night, be- 


56 


FAST FRIENDS. 


fore going to bed, the lines I had made during the 
day. I can’t read a poem that I like, but a burning 
desire seizes me to go and write something in the 
same style. For that reason, I’m afraid some of 
these pieces will sound like imitations. For in- 
stance, here ’s a fragment, — ' Isabel,’ — which reads 
so much like Coleridge’s ^ Christabel,’ that I shall be 
afraid to include it in the volume.” 

Jack read a little of “ Golboda,” and was surprised 
to find the lines so smooth, and the rhymes so musi- 
cal. But he could n’t keep his mind on it very long ; 
and, without suspecting that the fault might be in 
the poem, he accused himself of being over-anxious 
about their situation. Besides, a thought had sud- 
denly struck him. 

“ It ’s good ! ” he said. George, you are a poet ! 
It does sound like the ‘ Lady of the Lake,’ — and I 
don’t see but it ’s almost as good.” 

George, who had been watching him with keen 
anxiety, and had felt his heart sink at the reader’s 
first symptoms of weariness and inattention, smiled 
at this doubtful compliment. 

“ But, George, I ’ve an idea ! ” 

“ What ? ” said George, with a nervous tremor. 

“You’ve got some things in your trunk, here, 
which you can shove up.” 

“ Shove up ? ” George stared. 

“ Yes,” said Jack, confidently ; “ up the spout.” 

“ The spout ? What ’s that ? ” 

“ Don’t you know ? There are pawnbrokers’ shops 


GEORGE OPENS HIS HEART AND HIS TRUNK. 57 

in all large cities, where you can borrow money on 
anything, — from a key-bugle to a jack-knife; from 
a pocket Bible to a suit of clothes.” 

“ I had n’t thought of -that ! And can you always 
get your things again ? ” 

■ ‘ Yes ; by paying back the money, within a certain 
time, with interest. What else have you? What 
can you spare the best ? ” 

“ I shall hate to part with my books ! ” said 
George, “ or my clothes, or — I don’t know ; perhaps 
I can shove up, as you call it, this flute, as well as 
anything.” 

“ A flute ! Do you play the flute ? ” said Jack, 
with joyful surprise. 

“ Yes, a little.” 

“ Oh ! Forrest Felton plays the flute, and I have 
begun to learn. I wish you could keep that. 
There ’s nothing like a little music to comfort a 
fellow, when he gets lonesome. Can you play dan- 
cing tunes ? ” 

George modestly confessed to some slight skill of 
touch. Then, suddenly. Jack exclaimed, “By gra- 
cious ! ” 

“ What now ? ” George inquired. 

“ Another idea 1 Shut your trunk, and bring along 
your flute, and I ’ll tell you ! ” 


3 * 


68 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE IX. 

HEAD AND HEELS. 

George followed with some curiosity, while Jack 
led the way back to their favorite nook at the bow. 

Now let me hear you play a few tunes.” 

George, after some hesitation, blushingly put the 
flute to his lips, and played “ Mrs. Macdonald ” with 
much grace and sweetness. Encouraged by Jack’s 
applause, he then played the “ Copenhagen Waltz ” 
and “ Fisher’s Hornpipe.” Jack was delighted; and, 
during the performance of the last piece, sprang to 
his feet, in a little open space of the^deck, before the 
capstan, threw himself into a jaunty attitude, and 
began to dance, keeping perfect time to the music, 
with his shoes, upon the smooth floor. A crowd was 
beginning to gather about them, when Jack finished 
with a surprising flourish and shuffle and whirl, and 
tumbled himself down on the ropes by his friend’s 
side. 

“ That ’s complete ! ” exclaimed George, whose eye 
and ear bad been charmed by the rhythmical sound 
and movement of the dance. “ Where did you learn 
so much ? ” 

On the canal, when I was a little shaver. I used 
to amuse the boatmen and stable-keepers with my 


HEAD AND HEELS. 


59 


dancing tricks. I learned them of the drivers,” said 
Jack, a little out of breath. 

I Ve seen drivers dance ; but I never saw any- 
thing quite so neat ! ” his friend declared. 

“ I could do such things once, very well,” said Jack, 
wiping his forehead. “ But I Ve been mostly out of 
practice since I left the canal. Last fall, I danced 
a little to Forrest Felton’s playing. Moses Chatford 
found it out, and, at noontimes, last winter, I did a 
double-shuffle, once in a while, in the school-house 
entry. Lucky for us ! ” 

George did not quite comprehend the force of the 
remark. 

“ Don’t you see ? Tliere ’s money in it ! ” And, to 
his friend’s astonishment, Jack proceeded to unfold 
his idea. “ We can draw a crowd, easy enough ! 
AVe ’ll go up on the passenger-deck, and I ’ll dance 
to your playing, and then pass round the hat for 
pennies.” 

“ I never could do it in the world ! ” said George, 
abashed at the bare suggestion. 

But you must ! ” urged Jack. “ It ’s our only 
chance. I don’t fancy it any more than you do ; 
but it will be evening by the time we reach New 
York, and we may be too late for the pawnbrokers’ 
shops, and to-morrow is Sunday, and any honest 
business is better than starvation or beggary.” 

“ But this is only a kind of beggary,” George ob- 
jected, while the sweat started out on his face at the 
thought of making a public spectacle of himself. 


60 


FAST FRIENDS. 


‘"We have a good excuse for doing it/’ Jack ar- 
gued. “ I shall have the hardest part. And I ’ll pass 
round the hat. Playing the flute won’t he had.” 

George remembered that the poet Goldsmith once 
gained the means of subsistence, on a foot journey 
through Germany and Switzerland, by playing the 
flute at the doors of peasants, who lodged and fed 
him for his music ; and after much bashful hesita- 
tion, he consented to Jack’s plan. 

“We’ll wait till after dinner,” said Jack. “Pas- 
sengers will be better-natured when they have been 
fed, and more inclined to give their pennies. Be- 
sides, they will begin to be tired of the boat later in 
the day, and want some amusement.” 

George, who would not have thought so far as 
that, gave his companion credit for wonderful sa- 
gacity. 

They had a few crackers in their coat-pockets, and 
of these they made a frugal repast, while their fellow- 
passengers (except those who had likewise brought 
provisions aboard), in answer to the steward’s bell, 
thronged to the steamboat table. As the two friends 
ate, they discussed the probable success of their 
scheme, and arranged their programme. 

The day was fine and not too cool, though so early 
in the season. The Catskill Mountains were long 
since passed, and the celebrated scenery of the Hud- 
son was growing a little monotonous, when our two 
youthful adventurers, at just the right moment, 
made their appearance on the upper deck. It was 






Head and Heels. 







HEAD AND HEELS. 


61 


thronged with passengers, occupying stools and 
benches, or walking up and down. 

Jack found a clear space on one side, and said to 
his friend, “ This will do. Put your back against 
that pillar. iTow, don’t think of anything but me 
and the music.” 

George’s cheeks were afire with blushes, and his 
heart was beating violently. It took him some time 
to gain confidence and breath to begin. He was also 
greatly embarrassed by the conspicuous shortness of 
his sleeves, as he put up his arms, holding the flute 
to his lips. He had never felt so awkward in his 
life. But resolution, which he did not lack, over- 
came self-distrust and bashfulness, and he blew 
a few wildly sweet premonitory notes. Then he 
struck into the Fishers Hornpipe, while Jack, stand- 
ing near, nodded approvingly, and beat time wfith 
his finger. Then Jack began his part. 

In a minute there was a ring of spectators around 
the two performers, and a crowd pressing up from 
behind. On one side stood George, flute to lips, his 
back against the pillar; and in the midst was Jack, 
his head thrown back, now a little on one side and 
now on the other, his face animated, his hands on his 
hips, one of them holding his hat, his whole body 
lithe and agile, feet flying, and heels and toes strik- 
ing the floor with surprising rapidity and precision. 
The old spirit of the canal-driver seemed to have 
come back upon him, and there was something 
almost saucy in his appearance. 


62 


FAST FRIENDS. 


The end of the dance was greeted with a murmur 
of satisfaction, and Jack immediately passed around 
his hat. 

“ Gentlemen,” said he, '' this is n’t exactly our 
trade, but we’re driven to it by necessity. We had 
our pockets picked when we came aboard at Albany, 
as some of you noticed ; and we ’re trying to raise 
a little money to pay for our supper and lodging.” 

The gentlemen, pretty generally, put their hands 
into their pockets, and a good many pennies, together 
with a few small silver pieces, fell into Jack’s hat. 
He did not confine himself to the ring, but, breaking 
through it, gave everybody within sound of the flute 
a chance to contribute. 

In the mean while George, finding the public at- 
tention directed from him, gained confidence, and 
played Sv:eet Home, and one or two tender Scotch 
airs, with much beauty and feeling. . What he 
lacked in brilliancy of execution, — and he was by 
no means a brilliant player, — he more than made 
up in expression. He was surprised to find himself 
playing so well; his audience inspired him; a feel- 
ing of triumph filled his heart. 

In a little while, Jtick returned, with a joyful 
countenance, and dropped at his friend’s feet a hat 
well ballasted witli clinking coin. 

“Now, my friends,” said he, gayly, “if you will be 
so obliging as to stand back a little, and make a 
larger ring, you can all see and hear just as well, 
and others will be accommodated. Besides, some of 


HEAD AND HEELS. 


63 


you are standing before the ladies, on those benches ; 
and I am sure you are too polite to wish to do 
that.” 

George struck up a lively air, to which Jack 
danced a double-shuffle,” putting in his most diffi- 
cult and astonishing touches. By this time it had 
become noised around that these were the lads who 
had had their pockets picked, and the curiosity ex- 
cited by their novel situation drew, perhaps, quite 
as many spectators as the skill of the performance. 
The next time Jack, with glowing face and spark- 
ling eyes, passed round the hat, he was greeted with 
many a kind question and pleasant joke, and, what 
was more to his purpose, a generous contribution of 
small coins. At the same time, the remarks he 
heard about himself amused him. 

“ Tliat boy will make his way in the world !” 

“ Smart as lightning ! ” 

“ If his head ’s as good as his heels, he ’ll do ! ” 

A lady, dressed in black, seated on one of the 
benches, dropped a York shilling into his hat, and 
questioned him, with motherly eyes full of affection- 
ate interest. 

Did you never dance for money before ? ” 

Jack felt that he could honestly say no, though 
he remembered that when he was a canal-driver and 
danced for tlie boatmen, they sometimes tossed him 
a penny. 

“ How much money did you lose by the pick- 
pockets ? ” 


64 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ I lost forty dollars, and my friend lost almost as 
much.” 

And you are poor boys ? ” 

“ That was all the money we had in the world.” 

The lady felt in her pocket, and dropped another 
shilling into his hat. As she was plainly clad, and 
had not at all the air of a rich person. Jack remon- 
strated. 

“Don’t give us anything because we are poor 
boys,” he said, blushingly. “Though that is true 
enough, we are not beggars. We only ask pay for 
our entertainment, if anybody has been entertained.” 

“ I have n’t half paid you for my entertainment,” 
the lady replied, with a tender smile. “ You interest 
me. How long have you two been travelling to- 
gether ? ” 

“ Only two or three days. I fell in with him by 
the way.” 

“ Have you parents ? Is your mother living ? ” 

“I’m alone in the world,” was Jack’s reply, as he 
passed on. 

Near by stood the old gentleman who had be- 
friended the two boys ; and he now shook Jack cor- 
dially by the hand. 

“I want to pay you back the money you lent 
us, and thank you again for your kindness,” said 
Jack, with grateful emotion. “We’re in luck, you 
see.” 

“ I see, — and glad I am ! ” said the old gentleman. 
“But never mind about the money just now. You 


HEAD AND HEELS. 


65 


may need it, after all. You have n’t got through 
your troubles yet.” 

And he firmly refused to receive hack the loan. 

“ I knew they were honest hoys ! ” J ack heard him 
say, as again he passed on. 


B 


66 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEK X. 

ME. FITZ dingle’s GENEROUS OFFER. 

“This will do for the present/’ Jack said, return- 
ing to his friend. “We don’t want to make nui- 
sances of ourselves.” 

They withdrew from the crowd, and, returning to 
the nook in the how, sat down to count their money. 
It was all in copper cents, York sixpences and shil- 
lings (old-fashioned six and a quarter and twelve 
and a half cent silver pieces, called fourpences and 
ninepences in New England), dimes and half-dimes, 
which, carefully counted, and placed in separate piles, 
were found to amount to the snug little sum of four 
dollars and eighty cents. 

“Xow, what do you say?” said the exultant Jack. 
“ Two dollars and forty cents apiece ! Xot a had job, 
hey ? ” 

“ I never would have believed it ! ” exclaimed 
George, gleefully. “ It seems too good a joke ! I 
thought I should hurst with laughter once, when I 
thought of it, in the middle of a tune ! Did n’t you 
notice I almost broke down? What would Vinnie 
say?” 

And he shook with merriment, while he tried to 
keep a sober face, and pulled down his coat-sleeves. 


MR. FITZ DINGLE’S GENEROUS OFFER. 


67 


The boys were observed by two or three pas- 
sengers and boat-hands ; and presently they saw a 
portly gentleman, in light kid gloves and a white 
waistcoat, with a hooked nose, a florid face, and a 
defect in his left eye, moving somewhat pompously 
toward them. 

“ Good pile, eh ? ” he said in a hoarse bass voice, 
with a leer of pleasantry. “ Ha ! ha ! pretty well ! ” 

He winked knowingly at them ; and the boys 
noticed that the lids of the defective eye stuck to- 
gether after the operation, remained so for a second 
or two, then peeled slowly apart, and came open in a 
most comical fashion. Indeed, the man’s whole ap- 
pearance, with his red face, his leer, his light kids, 
and his white waistcoat, — out of season, and giving 
him an air of coarse gentility, — struck the boys as 
grotesque and absurd. 

'^We have several piles,” replied Jack, coldly, — 
for he did not greatly fancy the man’s acquaint- 
ance. 

“ I see ! And you ’ve got something better ; did 
ye know it ? ” He winked again shrewdly, and 
added, while the comical eye was slowly coming 
open as before, “ You ’ve got a fortune in your 
heels!” 

“ Have I ? ” said Jack, interested. “ I did n’t 
know it.” 

“ I know it,” replied the man. “ And shall I tell 
you how I know it ? ” 

“ If you please,” said J ack, puzzled and curiou^. 


68 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ Because I ’ve a professional eye ! ” the man an- 
swered, with another extraordinary leer and wink. 

Jack had a mind to ask, “ Which eye ? ” as if 
uncertain whether it was the twinkler, or the one 
which happened just then to be glued up again ; but 
he thought he would not be saucy; so he simply 
asked, “ What ’s that ? ” 

I ’m professional,” said the man. “ You under- 
stand ! ” 

“ Indeed ! ” said Jack, though he did n’t understand 
in the least. 

Certainly,” wdth a flourish of the gloved hands, 
while the white waistcoat swelled prodigiously. “ In 
the artistic line. I could give you an opening. I 
am proprietor of a troupe.” 

“A troop of what?” asked Jack, watching with 
a sort of fascination the peeling open of the comical 
eye. Horses ? ” 

“ Artists ! ” said the man, impressively. 

“ Oh! Painters ? ” said Jack, whose idea of an art- 
ist was somewhat old-fashioned. As this suggestion 
was met by a violent leer and puffing of the waist- 
coat, he added, What sort of artists ? ” 

“Well,” said the man, strutting to and fro before 
the boys, with his gloved thumbs hooked into the 
armholes of his waistcoat, — “ ’hem ! — at the pres- 
ent time,” — he paused, and turned his good eye on 
Jack again, — “ to be plain, — nigger minstrels.” 

“Negroes?” said Jack; for the colored- minstrel 
business was rather a new thing in those days. 


MR. FITZ DINGLE’S GENEROUS OFFER. 69 

the genuine article, — ha, ha!” said the 
man, resuming his walk. “No! Imitations. Gen- 
uine art, if not the genuine article ! ” and he laughed 
at his own joke. “ One of the most elegant places 
of amusement in the metropolis. I ’ve the best 
bones in the country, — I don’t hesitate to say in 
til 6 whole world.” 

“The best bones?” queried Jack, who couldn’t 




70 


FAST FRIENDS. 


see how this man’s bones differed from those of any 
other person possessing a sound constitution. 

“The best bones ; the man who plays the bones, — 
you understand ; and certainly the best low-comedy 
tenor in New York ; and now I want a person for 
the clog dance. It ’s just the place for you, young 
man. Good pay to begin with, and a fortune in 
your heels, — as I said before, — after I have devel- 
oped you into a great artist.” 

“ What do you call good pay ? ” asked Jack. 

“ Two dollars a week is good pay at first. Here is 
my card.” 

It was a bit of enamelled pasteboard, on wdiich 
Jack read, in fancy letters, which seemed affectedly 
fine, for the name of so coarse a man : — 

(Q ^ 

Zircius FITZ DINGZE, 

BOWERY HALL. 

u>. 

“ What should I have to do ? ” inquired J ack. 

“ Black your face and hands, dress in character, 
' — plantation darky, — dandified colored gemman, — 
and dance three or four dances in the course of the 
evening. I warrant you a big success ! ” And the 
good eye twinkled with professional delight at an- 
ticipated audiences, while the other struggled vainly 
to get open. 


MR. FITZ DINGLE’S GENEROUS OFFER. 


71 


Jack exchanged glances with George, who looked 
dismayed at the thought of parting with his friend ; 
then answered quietly and firmly, “ Thank you, sir ; 
I don’t think I ’ll black my face and sell my heels 
for two dollars a week, just now.” 

‘'I’ll say three dollars, if you’ll engage for the 
season,” added Fitz Dingle. “You’re a mere boy, 
you know.” 

Jack still shook his head. 

“ Very well ; three dollars for the first week ; then, 
if you like to stay, an increase of a quarter a week.” 

But Jack had made up his mind. 

“Well, come and see my show, anyway. You’ll 
find it extremely popular and attractive. And bring 
your friend.” 

So saying, he handed Jack a couple of red tickets, 
each bearing the inscription : — 

<p Q) 

COMPLIMENTARY. 

FITZ DINGLE’S COLORED MINSTRELS. 

ADMIT ONE. 

h 

And, urging his “young friend” to think of it, 
with a flourish of the kids, and a persuasive leer and 
wink, the professional gentleman stepped gracefully 
from the stage, — his bad eye having already retired 
behind the curtain. 


72 


FAST FRIENDS. 


The boys laughed ; and Jack, who had, during the 
scene, mechanically divided the little piles of coin 
into two equal portions, now pushed one of them 
towards George, with one of Fitz Dingle’s red tickets. 

“ There ’s your share,” said he. 

“ It ’s more than my share,” George declared. 
“We should n’t have a penny, if it had n’t been for 
you.” 

“ But half is yours ; you remember our agreement,” 
Jack insisted. 

“ Well, keep it all for the present, and pay ex- 
penses,” said George, who hated to have anything to 
do with matters of money. 

“Carry all these coppers? They would tear my 
pockets out!” said Jack. 

“Well, I ’ll help you bear the load.” 

George took up the ticket and looked at it. 

“ Shall we go and see Fitz Dingle’s elegant enter- 
tainment ? ” 

“Some time, — maybe. And who knows,” added 
Jack, “but I shall be glad to take up with his offer? 
We’ve already seen that when a fellow breaks down, 
a pair of heels ain’t bad to fall back on ! ” 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


73 


CHAPTEE XI. 

ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 

The boys were now in gay spirits, and the last 
part of their voyage down the river was as delight- 
ful as the outset had been gloomy. 

“ I wish this was to last a week ! ” exclaimed 

0 

George, who had a poet’s passion for the water, and 
whose eye could not gaze enough on the brown cliffs 
of the Palisades, rising precipitately four or five hun- 
dred feet above the western shore. Besides, his was 
a dreamy, rather inert nature ; he loved repose, and 
dreaded responsibility and the uncertainty of change. 

But swiftly the steamer ploughed her silver fur- 
row ; and the lofty, columnar fronts of the Palisades 
cast broader and deeper shadows across the great 
river. Then the river, widening fast, left them be- 
hind, and spires and shipping, city roofs and wharves, 
began to appear. On the left was New York, with 
Jersey City opposite, on the right; and the mighty 
fiood of the Hudson — here an arm of the bay — 
flowing between, alive with passing and repassing 
sails and ferry-boats, and sparkling in the last beams 
of the setting sun. 

“ See that ! ” murmured J ack, pointing to a 
steamer having a dozen lake and canal boats in 

4 


74 


FAST FRIENDS. 


tow. No more was said, but George knew his friend 
was thinking of the way he made his first voyage up 
the river. 

A little after six o’clock the boat reached her pier. 
Then came the excitement and bustle of landing. 
Jack took his light valise in one hand, and with the 
other helped George carry his trunk ashore. On the 
wharf they were beset by porters and hackmen clam- 
oring for patronage. George was quite distracted by 
their vociferous appeals, which he thought himself 
obliged politely to decline ; and he was soon glad to 
take Jack’s advice. 

Don’t pay any attention to ’em ! Look straight 
at your nose, and come ahead ! ” 

In fact, as soon as it was seen that here were two 
young fellows who knew their own business, and 
could take care of themselves and their baggage, 
they were allowed to pass unmolested. 

They crossed the street, dodging between thun- 
dering carts and coaches, and carried their baggage 
down the basement stairs of a low, dark eating-house 
on a corner opposite. There they made a pretty 
good supper for thirty cents, and had four dollars 
and fifty cents left of their late earnings. Getting 
permission to leave the trunk and valise there for an 
liour or two, they then sallied forth in search of a 
boarding-house. 

“How to find one is the question,” said George, 
quite bewildered by the turmoil and hubbub of the 
vast city, upon which the night Avas shutting down. 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


75 


But J ack had an idea. 

The grocery stores will know where the hoard- 
ing-houses are.” And with this clew they began 
their search. 

Boarding-houses proved plentiful enough, but the 
trouble was to find them amid so many distracting 
streets, the very names of which they had never 
heard before. In some places it was so dark that 
they could not see the numbers, and had to inquire 
at several doors before the right one was found. At 
these George, if he happened to go first, knocked in 
good country fashion. 

«Why don’t you ring?” asked Jack, who found 
him at one, vainly pounding and bruising his knuck- 
les, until he quite despaired of getting a response. 

" Eing — how ? ” cried George. 

Jack showed him; and then and there, for the 
first time in his life, our young poet from the rural 
districts had experience , of a door-bell. 

Never tell anybody I was so green ! ” he said, as 
they walked on, blushing very red in the gleam of 
the gaslight. 

One boarding-house was too ill-kept and musty for 
tlreir taste ; another, too elegant for their means ; and 
a third, too full even to make room for a couple of 
boys. At a fourth, they were somewhat abashed by 
the demand, from a staring and uncombed young 
woman, who answered their ring: — 

“Be’s ye married gintlemen, wantin’ board for 
yerselves an’ wives ? ” 


76 


FAST FRIENDS. 


«l — rather — think not!” replied Jack. Then, 
recovering his wits a little, he gave George a sly 
punch, with, “ I have n’t any wife, — have you ? ” 

“ Not that I know of ! ” said George, in an un- 
steady voice. 

They were then explicitly informed by the un- 
combed young woman that the said hoarding-house 
took only “ married gintlemen an’ their wives,” and 
that it was a “pair of ill-mannered monkeys that 
would stand laughin’ in a dacent body’s face.” 
George would have explained that they were not 
smiling at her; but the door was already slammed. 

At length they found in Duane Street a house that 
suited them quite well, both as to style and price of 
hoard, though George thought two dollars a week 
high ; and the little room they were shown w^as far 
up in the house. The landlady assured them, on the 
contrary, that the room was “very low indeed,” all 
her boarders being first-class, and her house quite 
genteel. 

She was a much -wrinkled, sallow, care-worn wo- 
man, and she looked so weary as she stood holding 
the lamp for them, that they made haste to close the 
bargain, and let her go. 

They then returned for the trunk and valise, 
which they carried along the ill-lighted sidewalks, 
often changing hands or stopping and sitting down 
on the baggage to rest. The distance seemed im- 
mense, and their arms and shoulders ached well 
before they got back to their lodging. 


ARRIVAL IN NEW YORK. 


77 


Again the sallow landlady held the lamp for them, 
while, with prodigious sweating and panting, they 
lugged their awkward load up several flights of stairs 
to their little attic. Then they set down the trunk 
on one side and the valise in a corner, and thanked 
her, and wiped their foreheads. 

Such was the arrival of our young heroes in the 
great metropolis. 


78 


FAST FKIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XIL 

THE BOARDING-HOUSE. — LOCKED OUT. 

The landlady placed the lamp (which smoked 
badly, and gave but a dim light) on a small pine 
table by the head of the bed, but did not immedi- 
ately wdthdraw. 

‘‘ I am obliged to ask yon for a week’s board in 
advance,” she said in a feeble but quite business-like 
tone of voice. That ’s my rule,” she added, as the 
boys hesitated and looked at each other. 

“ Certainly,” said George, with his hand in his 
pocket. “ Can you use — ” 

"‘Small change?” continued Jack, also with his 
hand in his pocket. 

“Anything that’s money,” replied the landlady, 
with a faint smile, which changed, however, to a look 
of surprise and dismay, as she' saw a pile of great 
copper cents tumbled out on the table, together with 
smaller piles of silver coins. “ Mercy on me ! have 
n’t you got nothin’ else ? ” she inquired. 

The boys were sorry to own that their means were 
thus limited. 

“ Well, I ’ll send Bridget with a basket. Or — no 
— I ’ll take it ! ” She made a bag of her apron, and 
went out heavily freighted with the said “small 
change.” 



An Astonished Landlady. 





THE BOARDING-HOUSE. — LOCKED OUT. 


79 


George sat down on his trunk ; Jack took the 
chair (there was but one) ; then they looked at each 
other, and grinned. 

“ Does it seem to you as if we were really in I^ew 
York ? ” said George, who had anticipated something 
so very different. “ Think of us lugging our trunks 
through the streets and up these stairs, and then 
paying off the old lady in coppers and sixpences ! 
Is n’t it ridiculous ? ” 

“ I don’t mind that,” said Jack. But how are 
we going to pay our next week’s board in advance ? 
Lucky if we have even the coppers and sixpences to 
do it with ! ” 

“ She won’t trust us a day, now she has seen the 
bottom of our pockets,” replied George. 

“ We have just half a dollar left,” remarked Jack. 
“ And we should n’t have that, if our debts were 
paid.” 

How glad I am I did n’t take Vinnie’s money ! ” 
cried George. “She has a few dollars, which she 
has earned by helping the neighbors in times of 
sickness. If I had done as she wished, the pick- 
pockets would have that too. But she made me 
promise to write to her for it ; I shall hate to, 
though I ” 

“ Let’s hope you won’t have to !” exclaimed Jack, 
springing up. “ Come, I ’m rested. What do you 
say to a look at the city before going to bed ? ” 

“ I ’d like to see some part of it besides the back 
streets we lugged our trunks through ! ” exclaimed 


80 


FAST FRIENDS. 


George. "Broadway is close by, — just at the upper 
end of this street.” 

They went out, and were soon walking up and 
down the great thoroughfare, dazzled and charmed 
by the life and brilliancy, the throng of people, the 
endless vistas of street lights, and the glittering 
magnificence of the shops. In the present enjoy- 
ment they forgot the dubious future ; they rambled 
on and on, until the crowd slowly melted away, and 
the shops began to close; then they had a mile or 
more to walk home. 

When at length they turned into Duane Street, 
they found it silent and deserted, their boarding- 
house dark, and the door locked. 

Jack rang the bell gently, at first, then with more 
and more vigorous pulls ; and George even returned 
to his primitive style of knocking with his knuckles, 
and (when they were sore) of pounding with his fist. 
All in vain ; the house remained as dark and still as 
before. 

Thus several anxious minutes elapsed, and the 
boys grew alarmed. 

" You don’t think it possible that we are thunder- 
ing at the wrong house, do you?” said George, 
stepping backwards, and looking up at the win- 
dows. 

They could not see the number on the door ; but 
Jack said he was sure of the house, because it was 
just opposite the end of a narrow little park, which 
adorned (and, I believe, still adorns) that part of the 


THE BOARDING-HOUSE. — LOCKED OUT. 


81 


street. It was certainly tlieir boarding-house; and 
another thing was no less certain, — they were 
locked out. 

“ Ring again ! ” cried George, with an energy that 
surprised his friend. " There ’s a light up there, in 
the top story. We ’ll bring somebody, or pull the 
house down ! ” 

They could hear the bell tinkling faintly ; but still 
there was no response. 

“ This is beautiful ! ” said Jack. We may have 
to crawl into a coal-shed, or an empty hogshead on 
some wharf, after all ; or else spend the last of our 
money for cheap lodgings.” 

" After we ’ve paid her in advance ! ” cried George. 
“I’d climb up and break into that parlor window 
for three cents ! ” 

“I wouldn’t!” replied Jack. “I got into a 
scrape by breaking into a house once, and I made 
up my mind I never would break into another, even 
if it was the White House at Washington, and I was 
President of the United States.” 

“ Look here ! ” said George, “ I believe that ’s the 
light in our own room ; we left the lamp burning, 
you know ! ” 

“ We are supposed to be in there, — abed and 
asleep, as everybody else in the house is,” said 
Jack. 

Just then a solitary pedestrian came sauntering 
down the silent street, on the same side where the 
boys were. Seeing their predicaiiient, he stopped 

4 * P 


82 


FAST FRIENDS. 


and regarded them with an air of amused curi- 
osity. 

“What’s the matter with the door?” he said to 
Jack. 

“There’s nothing the matter with the door,” Jack 
replied ; “ it seems to be a pretty good door ; but it ’s 
locked, and we want to get in.” 

“ Why don’t you ring ? ” 

“We have been ringing — rather!” said George; 
“ hut everybody seems to be deaf or d»ad.” 

“ Perhaps you don’t understand it,” said the man, 
with an air of slyly enjoying the situation. 

He stepped up to the door, fumbled wdth the 
handle a moment, and then exclaimed : “ Why, your 
door is open ! ” And, indeed, so it was. 

“ I don’t see through that ! ” cried Jack. “ Tliere 
must be some trick about these city doors I ’m not 
up to.” 

George thought -it must have been opened from 
the inside by some person who had glided away. 
The stranger offered no opinion, but continued to 
smile with much amusement as he stepped back to 
let the boys in. 


THE MYSTERIOUS GENTLEMAN. 


83 


CHAPTEE XIIL 

THE MYSTERIOUS GENTLEMAN. 

The entry being quite dark, he kindly inquired if 
they knew the way to their room. 

“ Not so well as we should, to find it without a 
light,” replied George. 

''Perhaps we can make a light.” The stranger 
stepped into the entry, struck a match On the sole 
of his hoot, and held it to light them up the first 
flight of stairs. They were then bidding him good 
night, with many thanks, when he said, "You 
have n’t got to your own room yet, have you ? ” 

" No, it ’s‘ away up in the attic.” 

" Who keeps this house ? ” he inquired, as he fol- 
lowed them up. They told him it was Mrs. Libby. 
He struck another match on his boot-sole, and as it 
was lighting, observed, " Mrs. Libby may be a very 
worthy woman, and she may keep an excellent 
house, but I shall tell her she ought not to lock 
her lodgers out, or have such dark entries.” 

As he insisted on showing them in the same way 
up the third flight, they hastened on to their room 
in order to get the lamp and, in return for his kind- 
ness, light him down again. But he quietly entered 
with them, smiling, and looking about him in a very 
leisurely manner. 


84 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ I ’ll light you down to the door, when you 
are ready,” said George, who stood holding the 
lamp. 

I ’m in no hurry,” he replied. “ I want to 
breathe a spell, after coming up so many flights.” 

“ Sit down,” said Jack, offering the chair. 

“ Thank you. But wdiere will you sit ? Mrs. 
Libby ought to furnish two lodgers with more than 
one chair ! ” 

Jack seated himself on the trunk. George, after 
some hesitation, replaced the lamp on the table, and 
sat down on the bed. Their visitor also seated 
himself, placed his hat on the floor, crossed his legs 
in a very comfortable manner, looking so much as if 
he had come to stay that the boys regarded him 
with growing surprise and uneasiness. They could 
now see that he was a man about forty-five years 
old, well dressed, somewhat round-shouldered, with 
neatly combed hair and whiskers and a marvellously 
pleasant countenance. 

He sat and talked for a few minutes about the 
discomforts of city boarding-houses, and then aston- 
ished the boys by coolly pulling off one of his boots. 
He then asked them some friendly questions about 
themselves, — how long they had been in the city, 
what they thought of it, and the like, — and then 
quite filled them with consternation by kicking off 
his other boot. 

George thought he would give him a poKte hint 
by asking the time of night. 


THE MYSTERIOUS GENTLEMAN. 


85 


It ’s early yet,” said the cool gentleman, pulling 
out his watch. Not quite twelve o’clock.” 

“ If you are not going soon,” said Jack, “ per- 
haps I had better step down and see that the door 
is fast.” He certainly thought that would start 
him. 

I looked out for that,” said he, smiling blandly. 
'‘The door is all right.” 

The hoys were now more than ever puzzled and 
disturbed. 

“ Do you live on tliis street ? ” Jack inquired. 

“Certainly,” he replied, appearing as if he un- 
derstood perfectly well their perplexity, and rather 
enjoyed it. 

“ Near here ? ” 

“ Eather near.” 

“ Sha’ n’t we — see you home ? ” faltered George. 

“ You are very kind. But I know the way.” 
And the cool gentleman began — very coolly — to 
loosen his cravat. 

Jack, unable to keep his seat on the trunk, now 
came and stood by the bed near George. 

“We don’t want to turn you out,” he said, as 
civilly as he could ; “and we’re certainly very much 
obliged to you ; but it is getting late for country 
boys like us, and if you have no objections — ” 

“ 0, not the slightest in the world ! I think I ’ll 
go to bed too.” And the gentleman proceeded to 
wind his watch. 

“ How shall we get rid of him ? ” whispered Jack. 


86 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ I don’t know ! He ’s a regular Old Man of the 
Sea ! ” muttered George. 

“ I leave my boots outside the door to be 
blacked,” observed the visitor, as he gathered up the 
articles he had kicked off, and set them out in the 
entry. 

“ I don’t just see where you are going to sleep,” 
said George, thinking it time that question was 
settled. " Our bed won’t very well hold more than 
two.” 

“ I should n’t think it would. And 'you did n’t for 
a moment imagine I was going to sleep with you; 
did you ? I am going to sleep alone ! ” 

^‘For my part, I should like to know where!” 
cried Jack. 

“ I think I can find a place. Let me take the 
lamp just one moment ! Mrs. Libby must have 
plenty of rooms.” 

As the cool gentleman had already taken the lamp, 
and seemed about setting off in search of apartments, 
the boys started after him in no little alarm. 

“ She told us this was the only vacant room ! ” 
cried George. 

“ Did she ? ” The man smiled with the same 
curious, amused expression, which had puzzled the 
boys from the first, and, taking up his hat with one 
hand, while he carried the lamp in the other, still 
moved towards the door. “Mrs. Libby may be a 
very truthful woman,” he said ; “ but I think I can 
find a place to sleep.” 


THE MYSTERIOUS GENTLEMAN. 87 

" What shall we do ? ” whispered George. “ Why 
did we ever let him into the house ? ” 

“ It ’s too late to ask that ; he ’s in ! ” replied Jack. 

“ He must he insane ! ” said George. 

“ More likely drunk ! ” muttered Jack. ''We must 
watch him.” 

The stranger marched deliberately into an adjoin- 
ing room ; the boys followed him, and hardly knew 
whether they were glad or sorry to find it unoccu- 
pied. There he hung up his hat, slipped his feet into 
a pair of pumps, and then lighted a lamp which he 
found on the table. 

" This is some lodger’s room ! ” exclaimed George. 

" It certainly looks like it ; and a very good room 
it is. I think it will suit me very well. How I ’ll 
return your lamp, with many thanks.” 

" Do you know Mrs. Libby ? ” demanded Jack. 

" I think I ought to. I board with her.” 

" And you — tlie front door — this room — ” 
stammered George, just beginning to see through 
the joke. 

The lodger smilingly pulled off his coat. " My 
name is Manton ; and this is my room. I was in 
it when you brought your baggage. I knew you at 
the door, and let you in with my latch-key. Good 
night, young gentlemen ! Don’t stumble over my 
boots ! ” 

The boys rushed back to their room, strangling 
with mingled mirth and chagrin, shut the door, put 
down the lamp, and held their sides. 


88 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“I rather think,” said George, “we have been 
badly sold ! What do you think ? ” 

“I think — ” 

But Jack’s voice grew inarticulate, and he tumbled 
on the bed in a spasm of laughter. 


MORNING IN THE CITY. 


89 


CHAPTEE XIV. 

MORNING IN THE CITY. 

Both boys, accustomed to early rising, were up 
and dressed betimes the next morning, refreshed by 
their brief but sound sleep, and eager for new expe- 
riences. 

They looked down from their lofty window upon 
the quiet street, and remembered that it was Sunday. 
The sunshine was stealing over the city roofs, slant- 
ing softly down across the fronts of dingy brick, and 
even gilding the gutters with beams as pure and 
fresh as were then falling upon their far-ofp country 
homes. The air was deliciously cool and enticing. 
A few doves flapped past, quite near the open win- 
dow. Eobins and sparrows were singing in the 
trees of the little park below. The vast Babel was 
strangely silent and at rest ; only the noisy cart and 
rattling bell of a stout milkman, driving from door 
to door, and a newsboy crying the Sunday papers, 
broke the stillness of the solitary street. 

Scarce another lodger was astir when George and 
Jack passed once more down the stairs up which 
they had lugged their baggage, and afterwards been 
lighted by Mr. Manton’s matches, the night before. 
As there were as yet no signs of breakfast, they 


90 


FAST FEIENDS. 


went on to the street door, fastened back the night- 
latch so that they could get in again, and went out. 

I am sure that neither of them ever forgot that 
first Sunday morning’s walk in the city. George 
afterwards celebrated it in verse, contrasting the 
early Sabbath coolness and quiet with the fashion- 
able throngs of church-goers filling the spacious side- 
walks of Broadway some hours later, and the roar 
and rush and heat when, on week-days, the tide of 
life and traffic was at its height. 

They went as far as the Battery, and were en- 
chanted with their stroll about the grounds, beauti- 
ful in the first bright green of spring, and above all 
with the view of the water. A gentle south-wind 
was blowing, and the harbor seemed alive with light 
waves, frolicking in the sun and dashing against the 
Battery wall. There were ships riding at anchor, 
steam ferry-boats plying across the East Eiver to 
Brooklyn, and across the North Eiver to Jersey City, 
a brig under full sail coming up the bay, and tugs 
and sail-boats ploughing and tacking to and fro. 
A shipload of Dutch emigrants, mostly in wooden 
shoes, — the women in petticoats and the men in 
short trousers, but large enough for meal-bags, — • 
were landing at a wharf near by ; not the least novel 
and interesting sight, especially to George, who 
had seen far less of the world than Jack. 

Fascinated by the scene, the boys would hardly 
have known how to leave it, had not a keen sense of 
hunger reminded them of breakfast. Then they had 


MORNING IN THE CITY. 


91 


a walk of over a mile back to their lodgings in Duane 
Street. They were glad enough to hear a loud hand- 
bell ringing vigorously in the lower entry as they 
opened the door ; and were disappointed, afterwards, 
to learn that it was only the “ first bell.” Breakfast 
was half an hour later. 

My boarders ain’t gener’ly in no hurry for their 
breakfas’es, Sunday mornings,” remarked Mrs. Libby, 
to whom they applied for reliable information on 
that important subject. 

Her rooms were well filled with “gentleman 
boarders,” as they were politely called ; there being 
not a “ lady boarder ” in the house. Several had 
already assembled in the parlor, — where the boys 
went, to wait for the second bell, — and were eagerly 
looking over the columns of “ wants ” in the Sunday 
papers. They had generally a clean-shaved, clean- 
starched, Sunday-morning appearance ; and Jack — 
judging from their bleached faces and style of 
dress — declared they were all “citified.” 

“ By Caesar ! ” suddenly broke forth one, — a pale 
young man in very tight pants, — spitefully hitting 
his newspaper with the tips of his fingers. 

“ What is it, Simpson ? ” asked a seedy but care- 
fully brushed old gentleman who had no newspaper, 
and seemed to be waiting for a chance at somebody 
else’s. 

“ Here ’s that humbug advertisement again, — you 
know, — confidential clerk on Chatham Street, — up 
two flights.” 


92 


FAST FRIENDS. 


I went for that situation,” remarked the old gen- 
tleman. 

“ So did I ! ” '' So did I ! ” cried two or three 

others. 

“ I thought I’d like to he a confidential clerk,” said 
Simpson; — “saw the advertisement the first thing 
Tuesday morning, made a rush for Chatham Street, 
found the place, and a crowd of about a hundred 
there before me, all wanting to be confidential clerks ! 
They blocked both flights of stairs and extended 
out into the street. I waited two hours — concluded 
’t was no use — and came away.” 

“I waited at least three hours,” said the old 
gentleman. “ I finally got to the office, and gave in 
my application and address to a man at the desk. 
Thought, of course, I was too late, i^ow, you don’t 
say the advertisement is in again ! ” 

From this talk, and much that followed, the boys 
were appalled to learn that nearly all Mrs. Libby’s 
“ gentleman boarders ” were out of employment, seek- 
ing situations in the city. 

“ There ’s hundreds of places advertised, but I 
don’t see as anybody ever gets ’em,” said a bilious 
young man, whom the others called Tarball. “ If I 
don’t hear of something this week, hanged if I won’t 
enlist in the navy ! ” 

“ What ’s become of that young fellow — Parsons, 
I believe, was his name ? ” asked a tall young man 
who sat facing one of the windows. He wore a stiff 
standing collar, which compelled him, when he wished 


MORNING IN THE CITY. 


93 


to turn his head and address the company, partly to 
turn his whole body, and partly to give his chin a 
cant, lifting the edge of it over the fence of starched 
linen. “ I have n’t seen him for a week.” 

“ 0, Parsons got to the bottom of his purse ten 
days ago,” replied Tarball. It ’s the third time he 
has come down from the country to find business in 
town, spent all his money, and had to go back again. 
I tell you, there ’s no chance. You are one of the 
lucky ones, Timkins ! ” 

Timkins was the tall one in the stiff dicky ; and 
his luck (as the boys learned afterwards) consisted in 
his having secured a clerkship, much to the wonder 
and envy of his fellow-boarders. This may account 
for the fact that he was the only person in the room 
who had a newspaper and was not diligently reading 
the “ wants.” 

“ Have you come to town to get business ? ” he sud- 
denly asked, putting his chin up and his eye down, 
as he turned to look over his dicky at George and 
Jack on the sofa. 

I hope I shall find something to do,” replied 
George, blushing, as if ashamed of such presumption. 

Simpson sneered, and flung down his paper jn dis- 
gust. By Caesar ! just as if there was n’t enough 
fellows looking for places in town already ! The 
cry is still, 'They come!’” He laughed bitterly. 
"What they’re all thinking of — I can’t understand!” 

With all his diffidence, George had a fiery spirit, 
and this insolent language roused him. 


94 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ May I ask,” he said, '' what you are thinking of, 
sir ? — for I believe you are looking for business, like 
a good many others.” 

“ 0, Simpson thinks he has the only right to he 
hunting a situation, and that all the other unfortu- 
nates are in his way ! ” laughed Tarhall, grimly. 
“ But I, for one, sha’ n’t he in his way long ! ” 

As if a few more or less would make any differ- 
ence with me, while there are thousands — yes, sir ! 
thousands on thousands — out of business, and 
crowding into the city to find something to do ! ” 
Simpson walked ^the room in his tight pants, and 
grew eloquent. “ They are fools, sir ! We are all 
fools ! And what I would say to these young gentle- 
men,” — turning to George and Jack, — “what I 
would say to my own brother, — is this word of warn- 
ing, — No use ! Go back to your country homes, if 
you have any ; dig, plough, blow the bellows, carry 
water, cut wood, do anything ; but don’t expect to 
find genteel employment in town. Thank Caesar ! 
there ’s the breakfast-bell at last ! ” 

And the tight pants led a clattering procession 
down Mrs. Libby’s back stairs. George and Jack 
brought up the rear, their appetites somewhat im- 
paired, like their hopes, by the dark prospects and 
discouraging conversation of their fellow-boarders. 


MR. MANTON’S FRIENDLY PROMISES. 


95 


CHAPTEE XV. 

MR. MANTON’S friendly PROMISES. 

Meanwhile nothing was seen of Mr. Manton but 
his boots, which remained outside his chamber door 
nearly all the forenoon. 

On coming in from another walk, between eleven 
and twelve o’clock, the boys saw his door partly 
open, and the facetious lodger himself inside, shav- 
ing before a glass. At noon he was laying out his 
clean linen on the bed ; at half past twelve he was 
brushing his coat ; at one he was dressed, ready for 
dinner, — except that a bow of his cravat and a curl 
of his right whisker appeared open to criticism, as he 
took a final turn before the glass and gave himself 
some finishing touches. 

" How can a sane man lie abed so late, and be so 
long dressing ? ” exclaimed Jack ; a question which 
George — who, like him, was used to getting up 
early and jumping into his clothes — could not an- 
swer. 

Mr. Manton accosted them in a friendly manner 
as they passed his door, and followed them down 
stairs. 

At the dinner-table, where he shone conspicuously 
as a humorist and story-teller, he made some sly 


96 


FAST FRIENDS. 


allusions to the adventure of the previous night, but 
refrained from entering into particulars while they 
remained in the room. It was not long after they 
had retired to their attic, however, when guffaws of 
male voices in the basement warned them that the 
joke was out. 

I don’t care ; it was too good to keep,” said Jack, 
and soothed the feelings of his friend, who was in- 
clined to take the exposure more to heart. 

Along in the afternoon, Mr. Manton came to their 
room, and, finding them busy writing letters, offered 
to retire. 

“ Excuse me ! ” he said, smiling. “ As you are 
strangers in town, I thought I might be of service 
to you ; but I can see you any other time.” 

They urged him to remain, and gave him the chair. 
After some pleasant conversation. Jack said: — 

“You may help me by giving me just a little 
information. I want a chance to look over a file 
of city newspapers of about a dozen years back.” 
For he had resolved, if possible, to attend to tliat 
business the first thing. 

“A dozen years back. City papers. Dailies or 
weeklies ? ” 

“Either, or both. I am looking up a matter of 
business that was advertised, I suppose, about that 
time,” Jack explained, with a blush worthy of his 
friend George himself. 

Mr. Manton thought a moment. 

“ I believe a friend of mine has old files of one or 


MR. MANTON’S FRIENDLY PROMISES. 97 

two papers ; he keeps everything. Or I might take 
you to the office of one of the dailies. I know the 
‘Tribune’ folks, — but, let me see! The ‘Tribune’ 
was n’t published so long ago. I doubt if even 
the ‘Herald’ was; the ‘Express’ wasn’t, I know. 
Twelve years ? ” 

“From eleven to thirteen years — along there,” 
said Jack, with growing anxiety in his face. 

“The ‘Commercial Advertiser’ is the oldest New 
York newspaper. But, let me see ! ” again said the 
obliging Mr. Manton. “ I can take you to the office 
of the ‘Evening Post,’ and introduce you to my 
friend, Mr. Bryant.” 

“ You are very kind indeed 1 ” replied Jack, who 
did not fully appreciate the greatness of the proposed, 
favor ; while George regarded with sudden awe and 
admiration the man who could coolly call the author 
of “ Thanotopsis ” “ my friend.” 

“ You know Bryant ? ” murmured the young poet, 
who could no more have said “ Mr. Bryant ” than 
“ Mr. Milton ” or “ Mr. Shakespeare.” 

“ 0, perfectly well ! ” Mr. Manton answered, with 
an easy smile. “He will give you every facility. 
And” — he addressed the wonder-stricken George — 
“ is there anything I can do for you ? ” 

George’s first thought was, “ If he will only take 
me to see Bryant!” But instantly he reflected, 
“ What business have I to intrude myself upon the 
great man ? ” Then, after a moment’s feverish 
trembling, he thought, “Yes! I will see him. I 

5 a 


98 FAST FRIENDS. 

will show him some of my poems, and Tie will tell 
me if there is any good in them ! ” So he said, I 
should like to go with you, when you take my 
friend to the office of the ‘ Evening Post.’ ” 

'' Is that all ? ” And Mr. Man ton looked as if lie 
did not regard it as very much. "‘Some of the fel- 
lows down stairs said you had both come to town to 
find situations ; and I did n’t know but I might help 
you in that way.” 

“ Could you ? ” cried Jack ; “ for I suppose I shall 
have to earn a little money while I am attending to 
that other business.” 

But George thought, “ I ’ll see Bryant first ! ” 

“ I don’t say that I can,” replied ^Ir. Manton, dis- 
creetly, as if afraid they would expect too much of 
him. "And yet it will do no harm to introduce you 
to some merchants of my acquaintance. A word 
from me will have weight ; and they may know of 
places, even if they have none for you.” 

Mr. Manton then promised to go with them to see 
some of his friends the next morning ; and soon after 
retired to his own room, leaving our youthful adven- 
turers elated with hope. 

"Do you believe he was in earnest ?” said Jack. 

" He seemed so,” George replied ; " there was n’t 
a bit of that look of fun about his face we noticed 
last night.” 

“ No, he is n’t playing a joke on us now ; I ’m sure 
of that,” said Jack. "But does he really mean all 
he says ? ” 


MR. MANTON’S FRIENDLY PROMISES. 


99 


I don’t know ; I can’t somehow realize that he is 
a friend of Bryant’s ! ” exclaimed George. “ Perhaps 
I should feel that way, though, about any common 
mortal.” 

“ 0, I Ve none of that feeling ! ” laughed Jack. 

I suppose poets, after all, are only men ; there 
must be an every-day side to them, — a side which 
common folks, like Mr. Manton and me, can ap- 
proach. Who knows but that, five or ten years 
from now, — or less even, — people will look at me 
with wonder and curiosity, when I speak of my 
friend, George Greenwood ? ” 

Don’t poke fun at me!” said George, coloring 
with confusion. 

Jack went on: "But I can’t see the man’s object 
in doing so much for us.” 

"But why should he make promises he doesn’t 
mean to fulfil ? ” George argued in reply. 

And both agreed that Mr. Manton was an obliging 
person, whom they had had the good fortune to in- 
terest in their behalf. 

The letters which they were writing — George to 
Vinnie and Jack to Moses Ohatford — now took a 
more cheerful tone, touching but lightly upon the 
pecuniary difficulties of their situation. 


100 


FAST FKIENDS. 


CHAPTEK XVL 

GEORGE PEDDLES HIS MANUSCRIPTS. 

Anticipating the morrow, when they hoped to 
accomplish so much, they went to bed early that 
night, and slept well until awakened some hours 
afterwards — near morning it seemed to them — by 
hearing Mr. Manton come to his room. He must 
have groped in the dark, they thought, for he ap- 
peared to stumble against their door, and to make 
an unnecessary noise before getting safely inside his 
own. 

He ’s a night-bird ! ” murmured George. 

Hope he won’t lie abed all the forenoon to- 
morrow — or to-day — which is it?” replied Jack, 
sleepily. 

It was with some anxiety that, when the morning 
came, they listened at his closed door, as they passed 
it on their way down to breakfast. It was guarded 
by his boots outside, and no sound came from within. 

Meeting Mrs. Libby in the lower entry, they asked 
what time Mr. Manton might be expected down. 

“ Mr. Manton never breakfases with the boarders, 
and it ’s seldom he breakfases at all,” was the reply, 
in a feeble voice, which discouraged further ques- 
tions. 


GEORGE PEDDLES HIS MANUSCRIPTS. 


101 


After breakfast the boys held a council in their 
room, and concluded that, under the circumstances, 

— their time was now so precious, — it would be 
right for them to return Mr. Manton’s call, and re- 
mind him of his engagement. So, reluctantly, they 
went to his door, and knocked at first quite softly, 
and with timid hearts ; then louder, as they got no 
response ; and, finally, lifted the latch and looked in. 

A haggard figure, with tumbled hair, — looking so 
little like the sleek Mr. Manton, that for a moment 
they thought they had broken in upon the wrong- 
man, — turned on the pillow, and growled hoarsely, 
“ Who ’s there ? ” 

'‘1 beg your pardon,” said Jack, “but you prom- 
ised to go with us this morning.” 

“ Oh ! it ’s you.” 

“ We are sorry to disturb you,” said George. “ If 
you can’t go with us, we won’t depend upon it.” 

“ Of course I ’ll go. But what ’s your hurry ? It’s 
always morning till it ’s afternoon. Just leave me, 

— set my boots inside, — I ’ll get up in a few min- 
utes.” 

So the boys withdrew, and lost another hour in 
waiting. They were both on fire with impatience, 
and Jack grew desperate. 

“ I can’t afford to spend my forenoon in this way ; 
I am going out ! ” 

But George — who knew of no other means of ac- 
cess to the poet, whom he had now set his heart on 
seeing, except through Mr. Manton — felt less inde- 


102 


FAST FRIENDS. 


pendent, and begged his friend to wait a little longer. 
Irritated by the delay, they fell into a dispute, which 
had almost become a quarrel, when Jack broke sud- 
denly away, and rushed out alone. 

George, left to himself, was in a wretched dilemma. 
He almost wished that Mr. Manton had not held out 
any promises to them, for then he would have known 
just what to do. He had a large roll of manuscript 
poems all ready to submit to a publisher, and a few 
shorter pieces laid aside for the magazines and news- 
papers, when the advantage to be gained by first 
seeing Bryant had caused him to change his plans. 
Now the day was slipping away, and he was doing 
nothing. Worse than all, his mind w^as distressed 
at the thought of having wronged and grieved his 
friend. Waiting at last became insupportable to 
him, and, taking two or three small manuscripts in 
his pocket, he sallied forth, in no very hopeful mood. 

When promenading Broadway on Saturday even- 
ing, he had entered a periodical store and taken the 
addresses of two magazines and three or four story- 
papers. He remembered now that he had done this 
at Jack’s suggestion, '' to make the most of their 
time.” 

“ How wise the little fellow is ! and how thought- 
ful of my interest ! ” George said to himself, remorse- 
fully. ''And just now I called him conceited, 
because he chanced to know better than I what we 
had better do. And he was right 1 But then, he 
needn’t have called me a mutton-head; that made 
me mad.” 


GEORGE PEDDLES HIS MANUSCRIPTS. 103 

He soon found his way to what was then the liter- 
ary quarter of the town, and was loitering slowly 
along, looking for numbers and signs, when, on the 
corner of Nassau and Ann Streets, he met Jack. 

They spoke to each other coldly — for the wounds 
of injurious words were still in their hearts — and 
passed on, almost like two strangers. That such a 
tiling could happen so soon after their arrival in the 
city, where neither had a friend beside the other, 
and that they should thus go their ways separately, 
without exchanging a word of counsel or sympathy, 
seemed incredible to both. 

“ He began it by calling me a mutton-head, and 
he ought to be the first to come round !” said poor 
George to himself, his heart swelling with a passion 
of grief. 

‘‘ Conceited, am IV’ thought Jack, stubbornly 
fighting hack the better feelings which prompted him 
to run after his friend and throw his arms about him, 
even there in the street. “ He must take that 
hack ! ” And he walked sullenly on. 

A few minutes later, George entered the office of 
a magazine (we will call it the “ Manhattan ”) which 
had once held a foremost place among American peri- 
odicals. He did not know that it was then in its 
decline. He meant to strike high. He drew from his 
pocket An Autumn Day,” which he considered the 
best of his short poems, and, in a voice tremulous 
with agitation, inquired for the editor. It was al- 
most a relief to him to be told that the editor was 


104 


FAST FRIENDS. 


out, and would not be in until the afternoon. Leav- 
ing “ An Autumn Day ” for his inspection, and say- 
ing he would call again, George bowed bashfully to 
the pert young fellow occupying the editorial chair, 
and withdrew. 

He next visited the office of the “ Western Empire,” 
a showy story-paper, and found the editor in. He 
sat behind a littered table, in one corner of a dirty 
printing-office, up several flights of stairs, and was 
engaged in clipping paragraphs from newspapers with 
a pair of shears. 

As soon as he could get breath in the presence of 
that august person, George explained the object of 
his visit, and laid two manuscripts before him. 

“ Po’try ? ” said the editor, putting down his shears 
and taking up the verses. He was by no means an 
august person, except in poor George’s vivid imagina- 
tion ; but a plain, bald-headed, civil man of business. 
‘‘We’re deluged with that sort of thing. I’ve a 
bushel-basket full of pomes under the table here 
now. ‘ The Mohawk Spy ’ — a story ? — that sounds 
better. I ’ll look at that.” 

George’s heart had sunk like lead on learning that 
“ po’try ” was such a drug in the market ; but he was 
slightly consoled by the assurance that the story 
would be considered. 

“ When shall I call again ? ” he asked. 

“Whenever you have anything new to offer; I 
shall be happy to see you.” 

“ I mean — to learn the fate of — ‘ The Mohawk 


GEORGE PEDDLES HIS MANUSCRIPTS. 


105 



GEORGE AND THE EDITOR. 


All ! yes ; say the last of the Aveek.” 

If you could decide upon it to-morrow,” said 
George, ‘'you would oblige me Amry much, as I am 
in need of money.” 

“ You expect pay for it ? ” said the editor of the 
5 * 



106 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ Westeni Empire,” who did not seem to have antici- 
pated that view of the matter. 

'‘I hoped — certainly — ” began George, with 
burning cheeks. 

The editor thereupon shoved the Mohawk Spy ” 
back to him across the table, as he had already 
shoved the “ pome.” 

“We have only two or three paid writers. We 
have more gratuitous contributions from others than 
we can possibly use. Young writers can hardly ex- 
pect to get paid. Good day, sir.” 

So saying, he took up his shears and resumed his 
occupation. His manner was so business-like and 
decisive, that George had not a word to say; and, 
hurt as he was, it did not occur to him that he 
had any just ground of complaint. Faint at heart 
and trembling in every limb, — almost dizzy with 
the blow his hopes had received, — he turned away, 
and descended the uiiswept, ill-lighted stairs to the 
street, saying to himself, “ Business is business ; if 
he can get contributions for nothing, wliy should he 
buy mine ? ” 

And yet lie felt a sense of wrong, which he could 
not define. Perhaps it was the instinctive revolt of 
lus soul against the system of unpaid contributions, 
which fostered a wortliless literature and enabled a 
shoal of trashy periodicals to live, while it starved 
the needy and meritorious author. .Or had the 
shears given him a secret wound ? He could not 
help thinking of this man filling more than half his 


GEORGE PEDDLES HIS MANUSCRIPTS. 


107 


broad sheet with clippings for which he paid noth- 
ing ; and I am not sure but he felt the shadow of a 
future event, which may be briefly related here. 

The “ Mohawk Spy ” did, after all, appear in the 
columns of the “ Western Empire,” in an unforeseen 
and curious way. George, after much trouble, got 
the story published in a popular New York maga- 
zine, from which it was copied into a London peri- 
odical, where it appeared robbed of the author’s 
name, and with the title changed to “ An Adventure 
in the American Backwoods.” The editor of the 
“ Western Empire,” finding it there, and probably not 
recognizing his old acquaintance, “ The Mohawk 
Spy,” recopied it, again changing the title to “A 
Backwoods Adventure,” in which mutilated shape 
it afterwards went the rounds ” of the American 
newspaper press. When George, who watched its 
course, first saw it in the Western Empire,” he was 
highly incensed, feeling that he had not only been 
robbed of his property, but also of the small repu- 
tation which the connection of his name Avith the 
story should have given him. He was for going 
at once to the editor, — not timidly, as in his first 
visit, but with wrath in his bosom, — and charging 
him with the Avrong, but on reflection he saw how 
foolish such a course would be ; and, his anger cool- 
ing, he blamed only the injustice of the law, which 
protects all kinds of property but the products of 
an author’s brain. 


108 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XYII. 

MR. MANTON’S friend. 

When the two boys met in their room, on com- 
ing home to dinner, both appeared low-spirited and 
silent. It was evident that neither had had mnch 
success in the business of the morning. Moreover, 
the wounds of the spirit which they had given each 
other still rankled, and a sullen coldness seemed to 
have replaced their ardent friendship. 

Mr. Manton’s door was partly open as they passed 
it, but, resenting that gentleman’s treatment of them, 
they took no pains to learn whether he was out or in. 

After dinner Jack sauntered into the parlor, and 
was surprised to see a lady dressed in black, with 
a black veil over her face, sitting by the window. 
She seemed to be waiting for some person to come 
in ; and, though he was not that person, she gave 
him a second look, removed her veil, and greeted 
him with a well-remembered smile. It was the 
lady who had questioned him with so much tender 
interest when he was passing round the hat on the 
steamboat. 

She pressed his hand warmly, and was question- 
ing him again, in the same gentle, almost affection- 
ate way, when suddenly her countenance changed. 


MR. MANTON’S FRIEND. 


109 


and she turned to speak to one who had come in 
behind him. It was Mr. Manton; and it now ap- 
peared that he was the person she had been waiting 
to see. 

He was looking very fresh, and so sleek that not 
a hair of his whiskers could have been thought out 
of place. His manner towards the lady was exces- 
sively polite, but he seemed scarcely to notice Jack, 
who, thinking himself in the way, quickly stole out 
of the room. 

Climbing to his attic, he found George there be- 
fore him, waiting, miserable enough. 

Maybe Mr. Manton will go with you this after- 
noon,” said Jack, coldly. 

“ I don’t care for Mr. Manton,” replied George. 
Yet it was evident that he did still place some reli- 
ance on that gentleman’s promises; for when told 
that there was a lady with him in the parlor, he 
watched anxiously from the window to see her go. 
Possibly Jack shared his hopes, for he waited also; 
and, whenever the street door was heard to shut, 
thrust his head out of the attic window, provided 
his friend’s head was not already at that loophole 
of observation. 

At last the lady went, — and Mr. Manton with 
her. Jack laughed sarcastically, but made no com- 
ment, as he tossed on his hat and walked out. 

The sensitive George thought the laugh was at 
him, and bitterly resented it. His hands trembling 
with agitation, he now tied up a bundle of manu- 


110 


FAST FRIENDS. 


scripts, and went out to find a publisher for his 
volume of poems. 

Meeting again at night, it was evident that the 
boys had had no better luck than in the morning. 
George, however, had come home without his pack- 
age of manuscripts. He had found somebody will- 
ing at least to look at them. 

After supper. Jack did not go up to their room; 
and, after waiting some time for him, George, 
wretchedly lonesome, went down to the parlor. 

His friend was not there. 

‘'No matter!” thought George, stifling his emo- 
tions of grief and yearning affection. “ I can be as 
independent as he can ! ” 

He found it hard, though, wandering about the 
streets, without an object, trying to amuse himself 
in the absence of his friend ; and his heart gave a 
leap of joy when, an hour or two later, he met Jack 
crossing Broadway. 

“ Hello ! ” said Jack, “ where are you going ? ” 

“ Nowhere in particular,” replied George. “ Where 
have you been all the evening ? ” 

“ Looking over an everlasting file of old news- 
papers ; — it’s an awful job,” said Jack, gloomily. 

“ Why did n’t you let me go and help you ? ” 

“ 0, I did n’t want to trouble you ! ” 

While they were talking, Mr. Manton came along. 
They pretended not to notice him, but he rushed up 
to them with a flushed face and beaming smiles. 

“ Where have you kept yourselves all day ? ” he 


MR. MANTON’S FRIEND. Ill 

cried. I Ve been to your room to find you about 
fifty times ; I wanted to take you around to see a 
friend of mine.” 

“We lost so much time waiting for you in the 
morning, we had to make it up this afternoon,” said 
Jack. 

“ Besides,” George added, “ we saw you going off 
with a lady after dinner.” 

“ Ladies have the first claim, always ! ” said Mr. 
Manton, gayly. “But I was back in an hour. In 
the morning I was n’t well. Let me see ! ” — look- 
ing at his watch. “ It ’s too late to call on Mr. 
Bryant this evening. I spoke to a friend of mine 
about you, — he will do something, — and I believe 
we can find him now.” 

George feebly objected that they had no night-key, 
and did n’t care to be again locked out of the board- 
ing-house. 

“I have a night-key, as I believe you know,” 
laughed Mr. Manton. “ I engage to see you safely 
home. Come ; it ’s only two or three blocks.” 

His manner was so friendly that the boys were 
easily persuaded to go with him. George at last was 
convinced that they had blamed him wrongfully, and 
he regretted that it was too late to call on the great 
poet. 

He chatted with them in a most familiar and fas- 
cinating manner, as they walked up the street to- 
gether, repeating what he had said of them to his 
friend, and what his friend had promised in reply. 


112 


FAST FRIENDS. 


He may be in here/’ said he ; “ let ’s look in.” 
It was a refreshment saloon, in which a number of 
gentlemen were talking — some rather loud — at 
little marble-topped tables, or drinking at the bar. 
“ He often comes here about this time for a chop ; 
which reminds me,” said Mr. Manton, “ that I did n’t 
go home to supper.” 

He seemed to know almost everybody in the 
room ; he spoke privately to two or three, and then 
came back to where he had left the boys standing. 

“ He has n’t come in yet. While we are waiting, 
let ’s have a glass of beer and a dish of oysters.” 

He seated them at a table, and was so very urgent 
that they finally consented to take the oysters with- 
out the beer. As for himself, noth withstanding the 
discovery that he had had no supper, he took the beer 
without the oysters. And yet it did n’t look like 
beer, and it had a suspicious slice of lemon in it. 
As this was drank before the oysters were consumed, 
he took another glass of the same,” as he confiden- 
tially whispered to the waiter. Then, as his friend 
had not yet arrived, he filled up the time by taking 
still another glass, his face growing all the while more 
flushed, and his manner more vivacious. 

The third glass finished, he put his hand in his 
pocket, and did not appear greatly surprised at find- 
ing nothing there. 

“ I ’m dead beat ! ” he laughed. '' I shall have to 
borrow half a dollar ; I ’ll hand it to you in the 
morning.” 


MR. MANTON S FRIEND. 


113 


As he was there on the boys’ business, and was 
planning to do so much for them, and had moreover 
just treated them to oysters, they could not well re- 
fuse the loan ; and, of course, they could not doubt 
so well-dressed and polite a gentleman’s promise to 
repay them. So they emptied their pockets of the few 
small coins left them of what George, in compliment 
to his friend, termed their “ head and lieels money.” 

Mr. Manton then called the waiter, and in the 
merriest manner counted out the expenses of their 
entertainment on the table, beginning to talk rather 
thickly. 

“ Two oys’ers, — that ’s two shill’s, — there ’s your 
two oys’ers ” ; and he carefully placed the two shil- 
lings under two fingers. “ 'Now, I ’ve had a punch, 
or, I b’lieve, I Ve had two punch’s.” 

“ Three punches,” observed the waiter. 

“ Is pos’ble ? I ’peal to my young friends here ; 
is three punch’s or one punch’s? ” His young friends 
assuring him that it was three punches, he submitted 
gracefully. “ Three punch’s, — that ’s a shill’ ’n’ six- 
pence. Ho ! le’ me count ! ” as the waiter offered to 
assist him. " I ’m determ’ned have it right. There ’s 
your two oys’ers ; there ’s yer three punch’s : an’ I ’ve 
sixpence lef. Boys, I’m going to have another 
bran’y punch ! ” 

They tried to dissuade him; and George even 
ventured to hint that he had had too many punches 
already. In vain : away went the waiter with the 
money, ^nd returned with the fourth brandy punch. 


114 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Whilst drinking it Mr. Manton discoursed wisely 
to his young friends concerning the duties of life, and 
the snares to be shunned in a great city. He coun- 
selled them particularly not to drink gin, which was 
bad for the constitution ; to beware of confidence 
men, who had a thousand tricks for getting their 
money ; and to put themselves under the protection 
of some friend and patron who knew the world, like 
himself. Then, smacking his lips over the last drop 
of his last punch, he reached for the spittoon, which 
he mistook for his hat, laughed at the blunder, and 
said he hoped nobody had mistaken his hat for the 
spittoon; then, with the boys’ assistance, finding 
himself '' all right,” he declared that he would show 
them the “ sights ” before morning. 

'' He ’s tipsy ! ” Jack whispered behind his back. 

We must take him home.” 

Walking with their friend and patron between 
them, the boys got him along the street very well, 
until, coming to a doorway that attracted his atten- 
tion, he stopped, and became obstinate. 

''We can’t go in here,” said George ; " it ’s getting 
late.” 

" But you can’t g’ ’ome ’thout me, for I ’ve the 
nigh’-key ! ” said Mr. Manton. " You ’re boun’ to 
go ’th me, then I’m boun’ to see you safe ’ome. 
My friend ’s in here ; I mus' int’duce ye to ’m ! ” 

As he insisted on going in, they reluctantly en- 
tered with him, mounted a dark flight of stairs, and 
came to a door at which he gave a peculif^ knock. 


4 







Mr. Manton’s Friend. 




MR. MANTON’S FRIEND. 


115 


It was opened, and in a moment they found them- 
selves in a blaze of light, amidst groups of loungers, 
card-players, and men throwing dice or shaking 
props. 

“It’s a gambling saloon!” Jack whispered to the 
astonished George. 

Here again Mr. Manton appeared to know every- 
body, and to be quite at home. After speaking to 
several persons, and glancing at the different groups, 
he smilingly invited the boys to lend him another 
half-dollar, with which he was certain of winning 
for them a very large sum. He felt it in his bones, 
he said ; and when he felt that way he was always 
sure to win. 

George was explaining that they had given him all 
their money already, when Jack suddenly started and 
caught his arm. 

“ Do you see that man over there ? ” 

“ Which ? where ? ” 

“ At the farther table — his coat buttoned to his 
chin,” said Jack, excitedly. “ It ’s my old acquaint- 
ance, the ’Lectrical ’Lixir man ! — good-natered John 
Wilkins 1 ” 

But George, who was looking at the wrong man, 
gasped out, — 

“ I know him ! It ’s that rascal — the pickpocket 
— who got our money 1 ” 

“ Who is ? ” said Mr> Manton. 

Jack had by this time discovered and recognized 
the rogue, who was at the same table with Wilkins ; 


116 


FAST FRIENDS. 


and he united with George in pointing him out to 
their companion. 

“ That ? ” cried Mr. Manton, with a laugh. “ Good 
joke ! Why, that ’s my friend ; wonder I didn’t see 
him before ! That ’s one of the ge’l’men I want to 
int’duce you to!” 


HOW MR. MANTON TOOK THE BOYS HOME. 117 


CHAPTEE XVIII. 

HOW MR. MANTON TOOK THE BOYS HOME. 

Both George and Jack were intensely excited, 
and Jack was for rushing out at once and calling a 
policeman to take charge of Mr. Manton’s friend. 
But Mr. Manton only laughed at them. 

You ’re greatly mistaken,” he said, and that 
shows your ignorance of the world. He ’s one of 
the finest ge’l’men. MacPheeler ! See here, Mac- 
Pheeler ! ” 

MacPheeler gave Manton an impatient look, and 
went on shuffling a pack of cards. 

“ A grave accusation ’gainst you, MacPheeler ! ” 
cried Manton, with his most amused expression. 

These young men ’cuse you of picking their 
pockets.” 

Thereupon MacPheeler, noticing the boys for the 
first time, dropped the cards, and rose abruptly 
from the table with a startled look, which quickly 
changed to an insinuating smile. 

What fun is this, Manton ? ” he inquired. 

“ Do you know these young men ? ” 

“ I am not aware that I ever had the pleasure of 
meeting them before.” 

“You don’t remember?” cried Jack. “But we 


118 


FAST FRIENDS. 


do! and we ’ll thank you to give us back our 
money.” 

‘‘ Your money ? ” echoed MacPheeler, in the 
greatest astonishment. “ Why, Manton, what is the 
meaning of all this ? ” 

“ Perhaps you are not the man who pretended to 
be in a fit, on the steamboat at Albany, and who 
picked our pockets when w^e were taking him 
ashore 1 ” exclaimed Jack. 

“ If I am, it must have been a good while ago,” 
replied MacPheeler, coolly. “ I have n’t been in 
Albany for two years. This is a curious mistake, 
Manton ! ” 

“ All the more strange,” said Manton, since I 
was bringing these young friends of mine to int’duce 
’em to you, for you to help ’em to a situation, through 
your stensive business ’quaintance.” 

“ Certainly,” said MacPheeler. " Anything to 
oblige you, Manton.” 

“ There ! what did I tell you ? ” said Mr. Manton. 

You see, boys, what a blunder you ’ve made ! 
MacPheeler has n’t been in Albany for two years ; 
I can swear to that.” 

But the boys were not convinced. MacPheeler’s 
face, his dress, his hat (for he had his hat on), — 
everything about him reminded them of the pick- 
pocket ; and George — who, though at times so 
timid, was full of courage and resolution on great 
occasions — said firmly, “ Will you have the kind- 
ness to let me look at the ring on the hand you hold 
behind you ? ” 


HOW MR. MANTON TOOK THE BOYS HOME. 119 

Certainly/’ replied MacPheeler, with the most 
perfect unconcern. “ Did you ever see it before ? ” 

“I — thought I had/’ said George, bending over 
the outstretched hand. “ It is just such a ring, but 
there was a diamond in it. There ’s the place for a 
stone ! ” 

That setting held a ruby once, — never a dia- 
mond,” said MacPheeler. '' You remember the ruby, 
Manton?” 

“ 0, perfectly well ! ” said Manton. 

MacPheeler then remarked pleasantly that, though 
he had often been taken for other men, he had 
never before passed for a pickpocket, and proposed 
that they should sit down and discuss the joke 
over something to drink. The boys declined the 
treat ; but Manton accepted with cheerful alacrity, 
and two glasses of brandy-and-water were brought. 
While the two gentlemen were drinking together. 
Jack looked for the ’Lectrical ’Lixir man, of whom 
he hoped to hear something about Phineas, but he 
had disappeared. 

“ What shall we do ? ” whispered George. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Jack. ‘‘ I believe this is 
the rogue, but we ’ve no proof.” 

“He has just such white hands, and long, slim 
fingers,” muttered George. “But I don’t see that 
we can do anything.” 

“ Let ’s keep track of him, if we can,” said Jack. 
“ I ’ll ask for his address, so that we can call on him, 
for the situations, you know.” 


120 


FAST FRIENDS. 


The gentleman seemed to anticipate this request ; 
for, as the boys approached, he held out to them, 
between his delicate thumb and finger, a neat card, 
bearing his name, Alex. MacPheeler, saying, “ In- 
quire for me at Lindley’s Employment Eooms, on 
Chatham Street, after eleven o’clock. Happy to 
serve you.” 

As this was all the satisfaction they were likely 
to get at present, they took leave, with a promise 
to call on him, and after a good deal of trouble and 
delay got Mr. Manton started for home. 

Exercise, and the encounter with MacPheeler, 
had served to sober their friend and patron for 
a while; but his last glass had made him merrier 
even than before. He was inclined to sing snatches 
of jolly songs as the boys, one at each side, guided 
his unsteady steps along the street. Sometimes he 
would burst into fits of whimsical laughter at their 
blunder in mistaking his friend MacPheeler — 
“ one of the bes’ men in the world ” — for a pick- 
pocket. Then he would assume the air of a mentor, 
halt on the sidewalk, square off at the boys, and lec- 
ture them. 

“ What s’prises me,” said he, preaching to Jack, 
while George held him up, “ is your utter ig’rance of 
the world ! You need sperience ; you mus’ ’quire 
sperience, and the pol’sh of s’ciety.” 

“We are getting experience and the polish of 
society pretty fast ! ” said Jack, seizing the gesticu- 
lating arm. “Come along home.” 


HOW MR. M ANTON TOOK THE BOYS HOME. 121 


Wait till I Ve spressed my sentiments ! ” cried 
Mr. Manton, now supported by Jack, wliile be 
turned and preached to George. “ One thing of 
firs’ impor’nce is dress. My young friend, you 
must have a better coat, if you ’re going to mix 
with genteel s’ciety. I never can int’duce you to 
my friend Mr. Bry’nt, in such short sleeves. What 
would my friend Mr. Bry’nt say, if I should say 
to my friend Mr. Bry’nt, — ' Mr. Bry’nt, this is my 
young friend ’ ; and Mr. Bry’nt should look at those 
sleeves ; for Mr. Bry’nt knows me, and knows I ’so- 
ciate only with ge’l’men.” 

This discourse was of a nature to touch George 
in a tender spot; and he felt it all the more be- 
cause of a number of by-standers who had stopped 
in the street to be entertained by Mr. Manton’s 
maudlin vehemence. Nor was it soothing to know 
that the truth which now came out in words, when 
the man was fuddled, must have existed all along 
in his silent thoughts when he was sober. Burn- 
ing with confusion and anger, George once more 
grasped the arm that had freed itself, and assisted 
Jack in the difficult navigation of their friend and 
patron along that billowy sea, the sidewalk. 

When it became necessary to cross the street, 
Mr. Manton shook himself clear of both supporters, 
and squared off again, with his back against a lamp- 
post. 

'^Now, with regard to crossing a street, I can 
lay down a pri’ciple that ’ll be useful to you all 
6 


122 


FAST FRIENDS. 


your lives. Cross when you can — not when you 
must. For, don’t you see ? when you must, then 
maybe you can’t. Vehicles, you know. Le’ ’s take 
a drink.” 

“ You ’ve had too much already,” said George. 

That ’s so ; I ’ve had too much, or else I 
have n’t had enough. I ’m just a little smashed, 
and I want another glass to sober me. Len’ me a 
quarter.” 

“You ’ve taken all our money, and got drunk 
with it,” said Jack, seizing him again. “Now, 
come home ! ” 

“ Home ? At this hour ? That ’s child’s talk ! ” 

“ But we ’re going,” cried George. “ You may 
come with us or not, as you please.” 

“ But I ’ve got the nigh’ -key 1 ” returned the 
friend and patron, with a cunning laugh. 

“No matter; we’ll take our chance of getting 
in,” said J ack. “ Stay in the gutter, if you like, to 
be picked up by the next policeman. — Come, 
George ! ” 

“ Look here 1 you won’t desert a friend in this 
way, will you ? I ’ll go ; I promised to see you 
safe ’ome, an’ I will. Hook on here ! ” 

Fortunately, another of Mrs. Libby’s boarders 
appeared just then, with whose assistance they got 
Mr. Manton home and put him to bed. 


THE QUARREL MADE UP. 


123 


CHAPTEE XIX. 

THE QUARREL MADE UP. 

I don’t know what we should ever have done 
without you, Mr. Timkins ! ” exclaimed Jack, as, 
this duty performed, they retired from Mr. Manton’s 
door. “We ’ve had a fearful time with that man ! ” 
Timkins followed the hoys into their attic, and 
looked about him with his chin canted, first one 
way and then the other, over the edge of his shirt- 
collar. He seated himself in the chair, midway 
between Jack, on the bedside, and George, on the 
trunk, and asked how it happened. 

“ In the first place,” replied George, “ he promised 
to help us find situations.” 

“ And was going to introduce you to some of his 
influential friends ? ” said Timkins, with his chin 
over his dicky, looking at George. “ Then he 
asked you to take a drink with him, and borrowed 
money of you to pay the bill ? ” with his chin over 
the other side of his dicky, looking at Jack. “ Of 
course ; then he proposed to show you the sights ? ” 

“ That ’s about the way of it,” said Jack, sur- 
prised. “ But how did you know ? ” 

“ He runs that rig with every new boarder. 
Played it on me once ! ” 


124 


FAST FRIENDS. 


How does he live ? What supports him ? ” 

“ He has a brother, who pays his board and 
tailor’s bills. He has set him up in business two or 
three times, on his promise not to drink or gamble 
any more. But it’s no use.” 

“ He has no money, then ? ” 

''Not unless he gets some foolish fellow to lend 
him some.” 

George and Jack looked at each other, and 
thought of their last half-dollar. 

"I don’t think the man means any harm,” said 
Timkins. " He really knows almost everybody ; 
and he ’s very friendly and sociable, — likes to make 
big promises. I hope he did n’t get very deep into 
you ? ” And the chin shd up interrogatively over 
Jack’s side of the shirt-collar. 

" Only half a dollar,” said Jack. 

" But it was every cent we had ! ” added George, 
dismally. 

"Sho! that’s bad!” And the Timkins chin 
went up, and the Timkins eye glanced down, on 
George’s side. 

"But who was the lady who called on him to- 
day?” Jack inquired. 

"Was til ere one ? It must have been his wife.” 

" His wife ! That beautiful woman 1 No, not 
beautiful, exactly, but — you know ! ” 

"Nice woman, I’m told,” said Timkins. "But 
she can’t live with him. He has no conscience, — 
that ’s the trouble with Manton. Bum, you know.” 


THE QUARREL MADE UP. 


125 


The boys were overwhelmed with pity and cha- 
grin, at this account of their gay friend and patron. 

“I felt all the time there was something wrong 
about him,” said George, after Timkins had retired. 

But, then, he talked so fair, and I wanted to believe 
him ! ” 

“ Oh ! but is n’t it too bad ? ” said Jack. “ Think 
of that woman — his wife ! I tell you, George, if a 
man lets rum get the mastery of him, it makes 
little difference what station of society he is in. 
I ’ve seen drunkards enough in low life, but I never 
saw a sadder wreck than this handsome, witty Mr. 
Man ton ! ” 

“ He would go low enough, if it was n’t for his 
brother who keeps him up,” replied George. “We 
shall never see our money again.” 

Jack took a few quick turns about the little room, 
moved by strong emotion. Then he walked up to 
his friend. 

“ George ! ” he exclaimed, “ we ’ve been a couple 
of fools !” 

“I am the biggest fool!” said George. “We 
should have given him up, — I am sure we should 
have saved our money, — if it had n’t been for me.” 

“I don’t mean that,” replied Jack. “We can’t 
always help being deceived. And, for my part, I 
can stand anything that happens, which I am not 
to blame for. But we were to blame for quarrel- 
ling. And I was the most to blame. I called you 
hard names.” 


126 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ No ! ” cried George, liis voice broken with 
rising sobs, “ I am just what you called me. I am 
— I vras — a muttouliead! You were quite right; 
you do know more than I ! Forgive me. Jack, for 
calling you conceited ! ” And poor George, grasp- 
ing his friend’s two hands, broke forth in a lit of 
manly weeping. 

Jack, whose feelings were, I suppose, no less 
deep, though he possessed more self-control, dashed 
away a few tears, choked back the rest that would 
have come, and answered in tones of earnest self- 
condemnation : — 

I believe I am the most self-conceited upstart 
under the sun ! Because, from a miserable little 
driver on the canal, I rose to be — as I thought — 
somebody, I imagined I knew more than anybody 
else. If I had followed Mr. Chatford’s advice, I 
should not be here.” 

“ I am glad you did n’t,” murmured George, “ for, 
then, you would never have met me.” 

" Good may come out of it, — I needed this les- 
son, — but, nevertheless,” Jack went on, “I have 
acted like a confirmed idiot. Mr. Chatford said 
there might be some mistake about what Molly told 
me; either she or Mother Hazard might have lied. 
He said the w^ay to do was to put the case into the 
hands of somebody here in New York, while I stayed 
at home. But we knew of nobody, and I was in 
such a hurry, — I am the most impulsive little 
simpleton in existence!” exclaimed Jack. “Off I 


THE QUARREL MADE UP. 


127 


came ; had my pocket picked the first thing ; and 
now I have found all the difficulties in the way 
which he predicted, and more. That ’s the kind of 
fellow I am, — conceited enough, I tell you ! ” 

George threw his arms about him. “ O Jack ! 
dear Jack I never mind ! Everybody is liable to 
make mistakes. But I — I feel as if I could meet 
anything, and brave anything, now that we are 
friends again. You don’t know how wretched our 
quarrel made me ! ” 

‘‘ Did it ? I fancied you did n’t care. Well, it ’s 
over now!” said Jack, the cloud passing from his 
brow. “No matter for Mr. Manton, and the half- 
dollar; if we stick together, George, — and we vnll 
stick together ! — let come what will, we shall get 
through all right, somehow.” 

“ You are a wonderful fellow 1 ” exclaimed George, 
laugliing through his tears. “ Now that we are 
friends once more, I believe I was never happier in 
my life.” 

Strong in this sense of mutual affection and sup- 
port, the boys went to bed, and slept well, and 
dreamed pleasant dreams, in spite of their misfor- 
tunes in the past, and the dubious future that still 
awaited them. 


128 


FAST FRILNDS. 


CHAPTER XX. 

HOW GEORGE AND JACK EARNED A SHILLING. 

After dinner, the next day, George and Jack, 
who had been about their separate affairs aU the 
morning, set out together to find Lindley’s Employ- 
ment Rooms, in Chatham Street, and to call on Mr. 
Alex. MacPheeler. 

They were prompted to this quite as much, per- 
haps, by curiosity, as by any other motive. Of 
course, they had no hope of recovering their lost 
pocket-books; but they thought they would like to 
know where Mr. MacPheeler was to be found, and 
what he would propose to do for them. And who 
knows,” said George, but that we may be glad 
enough, if everything else fails, to have him help us 
to any sort of a situation ? ” 

Jack laughed. I have had enough of Mr. Man- 
ton’s promises ; and I sha’ n’t be fooled by those of 
any friend of his, — especially such a friend as 
MacPheeler! But come on. Maybe we shall find 
out something.” 

The Employment Rooms consisted of one good- 
sized front chamber, up one flight of stairs, and a 
private office leading out of it. As the lads entered 
the first room, a tall, dark gentleman, with very 


HOW GEORGE AND JACK EARNED A SHILLING. 129 

black hair and whiskers, came out of the second 
room, and, with a smile of insinuating softness, in- 
quired what he could do for them. 

"We wish to see Mr. MacPheeler,” said Jack, 
producing that gentleman’s card. 

The insinuating smile vanished, and, with a stern 
look, which seemed more natural to his features, the 
tall man turned on his heel. 

" Is he in ? ” the boys inquired. 

" Mr. MacPheeler is mt in,” said the tall gentle- 
man, turning again, and confronting them loftily 
and coldly. 

"He said we should find him here,” urged 
George. " Can you tell us where he is ? ” 

"I have no information to give regarding Mr. 
MacPheeler,” was the formal and chilling response. 

A happy thought occurred to Jack, and he 
asked, — 

"Has he returned from Albany?” 

"I cannot say that he has returned from Al- 
bany.” 

"We saw him there last week, and had the 
pleasure of making his acquaintance,” Jack went 
on, with an audacious smile. 

" That is quite possible. Mr. MacPheeler is 
often in Albany,” said the tall man, bending 
stiffly. " If you have any message for him, I will 
take it.” 

"He promised to help us to situations,” sug- 
gested George. 


130 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ All ! ” The tall form bent more and more, 
and the insinuating smile returned. “ That is an- 
other affair. That is my affair. One dollar apiece, 
young gentlemen, and your names go on my list. 
I am Mr. Lindley.” 

Jack appeared to hesitate. ‘‘Does Mr. Mac- 
Pheeler often come here ? ” 

‘'He does. But I have not seen him since he 
went to Albany last Friday. He may have returned 
yesterday. But he can do nothing about the situ- 
ations, except through me.” 

“What shall we he sure of, if we pay our dol- 
lars ? ” George asked. 

“ Of very good clerkships, when your turns 
come. That may he in a week, or it may he in 
two weeks, according to circumstances. For one 
dollar, I insure nohody anything. For twenty-five 
dollars apiece, I insure you clerkships, wdth salaries 
ranging from three to five hundred dollars a year. 
For fifty dollars, salaries double those amounts. 
Better have your places insured, by all means.” 

“ Money in advance ? ” said Jack. 

“ Invariably in advance.” And Mr. Lindley 
bowed graciously. 

“ How would it do,” said Jack, “ for you to get 
us the situations, and then take the pay for your 
trouble out of our salaries ? ” 

“That,” replied Mr. Lindley, politely but firmly, 
“would not answer my purpose.” 

The conversation — somewhat to the relief of the 


HOW GEORGE AND JACK EARNED A SHILLING. 131 

boys, it must be owned — was here interrupted by 
the entrance of a somewhat stoutish, blustering gen- 
tleman, with a hooked nose, a very red face, and 
a curious defect in his left eye, the lids of which 
stuck together and then peeled open comically, as 
he marched fiercely up to Mr. Lindley. 

“ My name is Fitz Dingle ! ” he said, or rather 
shouted, in a menacing way, pompously inflating 
his waistcoat (which was a soiled white waistcoat), 
and slapping it with a soiled kid glove. 

“ Nobody disputes that fact,” said Mr. Lindley, 
coolly. 

“ I have come to see about that trunk ! ” cried 
the fierce Fitz Dingle. 

“ May I be so bold as to inquire what trunk ? ” 
rejoined the placid Lindley. 

“Goffer’s trunk. I sent for it this morning, — 
sent Goffer’s order. Now I ’ve come myself.” 

“ I have a trunk here, Mr. Fitz Dingle, pledged by 
one Thomas Goffer, in default of twenty-five dollars, 
which he was to pay me for getting him a situation.” 

“ But you never got him a situation ! ” 

“No matter. I was to get him one. It was a 
contract. I stand ready to fulfil my part of it, and 
I exact his part.” 

“Mr. Eudolph Lindley!” roared Fitz Dingle, — 
and the contrast between the impetuous violence 
of the man and the extremely deliberate peeling 
apart of his left eyelids was, to say the least, re- 
markable, — “ you ’re a humbug, and you ’re em- 


132 


FAST FRIENDS. 


ployment business is a swindle. I ’ve beard of your 
taking money from persons for getting them situ- 
ations, but J never heard of your getting one 
a situation yet. I’ve come for that trunk; and 
either that trunk goes with me down these stairs, 
or you go headforemost out of your own front- 
window. Take your choice.” 

And with one eye temporarily sealed, and the 
other flashing fire for two, Fitz Dingle began to 
strip up his sleeves, as if for business. 

Mr. Lindley turned pale, till the preternatural 
black of his whiskers appeared all the more striking 
in contrast with his unwholesome, sallow skin. But 
he did not lose his self-command. 

“ I do not stoop to dispute with such men about 
trifles,” he answered loftily. “ Here ’s the trunk ; 
the sooner you take it away the better.” And with 
his own hand he dragged it out of the inner office. 

“Give us a lift here, young fellows, will you?” 
said Fitz Dingle. 

The boys were quite willing, and, laying hold of 
the handles, they bore the trunk out of the room 
and down the stairs ; while Fitz Dingle imparted, in 
a very emphatic manner, to Mr. Eudolph Lindley, 
his opinion (more in detail) of that gentleman and 
his relations to the public. 

“ How one of you run to the corner for a hack, 
and here ’s a couple of tickets to one of the most 
elegant places of entertainment in the metropolis, 
— Fitz Dingle’s Colored Minstrels, Bowery Hall. 


HOW GEORGE AND JACK EARNED A SHILLING. 133 



THE BOYS ASSIST MR. FITZ DINGLE. 


I hope you have n’t been paying this scoundrel up 
stairs any money.” 

Luckily for us, we have n’t any to pay,” said 
Jack, laughing. Thank you,” declining the prof- 
fered reward ; we are already under obligations to 
you for tickets, which we have n’t used.” 


134 


FAST FEIENDS. 


“ Ah ? I think — yes, I remember you now ! ” 
cried Fitz Dingle. “The young fellow with the 
pair of heels ! What a mistake you made, not to 
accept my offer ! ’T was such an opening for a per- 
son of your talent ! You would have made fame and 
fortune, — fame and fortune, sir, quick as a wink.” 

Jack thought if it were no quicker than the wink 
of the eye which was just then struggling to come 
open, his acquisition of fame and fortune would 
have been slow enough. But he said, smiling : — 

“ Perhaps it is n’t too late now ? ” 

“ I fear it is too late,” replied Fitz Dingle. “ I ’ve 
engaged another man, — Goffer, owner of this trunk, 
and a good pair of legs ; but I am free to say, not 
your legs.” 

“ I should be sorry to have Goffer, or any other 
man, own my legs,” said Jack. “But I had about 
made up my mind, that if you would hire them, as 
you proposed the other day — ” 

Fitz Dingle shook his head; and Jack, who had 
of late been thinking that to accept this man’s offer 
was his only resource, felt his hopes sink. 

“ My troupe is full now, — the finest combination 
of artists in this or any other country ! ” said Fitz 
Dingle, proudly. “Come and see. And give me 
your address. Something may turn up.” 

George, who had gone for the hack, now returned 
with it, and Fitz Dingle stepped inside. 

“ Let me see ! ” he remarked, with one eye closed 
and the other hidden behind his hooked nose. 


HOW GEORGE AND JACK EARNED A SHILLING. 135 

“Since you didn’t care for the tickets” (thrusting 
a hand in his iDocket), “ here ’s a shilling to divide 
between you. Good day. Eemember Fitz Dingle ! 
— Bowery Hall,” he said to the driver. And the 
hack rattled away. 

“I Ve lost that chance!” said Jack, rather 
gloomily. “ Goffer’s legs have got the start of mine. 
George, we must do something desperate ! ” 

“How would it do to take another trip up the 
river ? ” suggested George, timidly. 

“And give the passengers a little more music 
and dancing ? I ’ve thought of that. But we ’ve 
no money to pay our passage, and we might make 
a failure the second time; the officers of the boat 
might forbid the exhibition, or the passengers 
might not be so much interested in us as they 
were when it was known we had just had our 
pockets picked. But I ’ve another idea.”- 

“What?” 

“We can go down to the steamboat-landing this 
evening, and perhaps get one or two jobs at hand- 
ling trunks. For my part, I ’m ready for any honest 
work.” 

“So am I,” said George, though with a blush at 
the thought of joining the vociferous throng of 
porters and hackmen at the steamboat wharf. 
“ And I ’ve learned this, — that we have only our- 
selves to rely on. This Bindley is a rogue, — no 
better than a pickpocket himself. How shrewdly 
you got out of him the fact that MacPheeler was in 


136 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Albany last week, where MacPheeler said he had n’t 
been for two years ! ” 

“ You see,” said Jack, '' such fellows as Mac- 
Pheeler have no settled place of residence ; the 
police might find them at any time, if they had. 
But their friends can hear of them through some 
mutual friend, like this Bindley. I wish we had 
some better proof against him ; then we would keep 
watch, and trap Mr. Alex. MacPheeler yet.” 

But any plan of thus recovering their stolen 
money seemed to both boys utterly hopeless. So, 
as they crossed the Park, they turned their attention 
to other schemes of bettering their fortunes. 

Suddenly Jack laid hold of his friend’s shoulder, 
and stopped short. 

“ See here, George ! How would it do for us to 
go around to some of the big hotels in the evening, 
and give them a little music and dancing ? I think 
we can pick up some money that way.” 

George confessed that the idea had occurred to 
him. “ But I hope we sha’ n’t be driven to that, — 
here, where we may become known ! ” he said. 

I ’m going now to see a book-publisher and one 
or two editors. I ’ll try what can be done with 
them first.” 


GEORGE AND THE BOOKSELLER. 


137 


CHAPTEK XXI. 

GEORGE AND THE BOOKSELLER. 

Jack returned to his files of old newspapers, and 
George went to call on a bookseller in Nassau Street, 
with whom he had left his bundle of manuscripts the 
day before. 

He was a kind-hearted man, who had been so 
much interested in George’s appearance that, without 
entertaining much hope of being able to make a pay- 
ing book out of the mass of verses submitted to him, 
he had consented to examine them, from mere good- 
will. 

He was writing a letter at a desk in the back part 
of his store, when the tall young poet reappeared. 
Having motioned him to a chair, he continued writ- 
ing. George took up a newspaper, and pretended to 
be reading at his ease, while he was, in fiict, suffering 
from terrible anxiety and suspense. 

At length, the letter finished, the bookseller lifted 
the lid of his desk, and took out the package of 
manuscripts. 

“ I am sorry,” he began, and hesitated, turning over 
the leaves of the manuscripts. George nerved him- 
self to bear his fate and look calm. “ Sorry I can’t 
say of these things what you would like to have me 


138 


FAST FRIENDS. 


say/’ the bookseller added kindly. ""But you are 
young yet. It would be very remarkable, indeed, if 
you could produce a volume of poems which the 
public would care to buy and read. Five years from 
now you will thank me more for not printing these 
verses than you would now for printing them.” 

George managed to shape his features into a sickly 
smile, and replied with an effort, "‘I dare say you 
find them mere trifles.” 

"‘Well, — yes, — and no,” said the man of books, 
who appeared anxious to temper the wind of his 
criticism to the shorn lamb who shiveringly awaited 
it. “ There ’s merit in some of the verses, but they 
have nearly all one great fault, — there is too great 
facility of versification.” 

“I — I was not aware,” George ventured to reply, 
"‘ that one could have too great facility of versification, 
if one versifies at all.” 

“ What I mean is this : Your language glides along 
too easily. You hurry on after your rhymes and 
fancies, — you go skipping and dancing like a brook, 
from pebble to pebble, — all pretty and musical, but 
there is no great depth. A little of that sort of 
thing is agreeable, but you give us too much of it. 
We grow weary; we want less music, and more 
meaning.” 

“ I think I see your objection,” confessed poor 
George, who immediately began to regard his poeti- 
cal compositions as a mass of wordy and empty rub- 
bish. 


GEORGE AND THE BOOKSELLER. 


139 


Tlie bookseller, looking as if it gave him quite as 
much pain to say what he did as it gave George to 
hear him, went on. 

Nearly everything here, that I have had time to 
look at, reminds me of either Scott or Byron, with 
here and there a touch of Burns. I venture to say 
these are your three favorite poets.” 

George admitted that they were. 

“ Now, what you need, is to read other poets, or 
none at all, for a little while. Don’t give us any 
more feeble echoes of anybody. Put a curb on your 
too lively fancy. Condense — condense — condense. 
Prune — prune — prune. Go deeper into the subj ects 
you write upon; think more of the substance, and 
less of the fluency of your lines. Now, here is one 
little thing.” And the bookseller drew out a piece, 
entitled “ The Old Meeting-House,” from amid the 
“ P ugitive Leaves.” 

“ I never thought much of that,” said George. A 
homely subject, — I don’t know why I left it wuth 
the rest.” 

“ I dare say you think it the poorest piece of all.” 

“ I am sure it is.” 

“And yet, I think you felt a secret pleasure in 
writing it.” 

“Perhaps I did, — yes,” said George, “there was 
something about it pleasing to me ; but I never fan- 
cied it would please anybody else very much.” 

“That,” said the bookseller, with a smile, “is a 
poem.” 


140 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ You think so ! ” cried George, with a look of 
astonishment. 

“ It is the one original piece in the lot. You were 
writing of what you knew something about, and 
every stroke tells. You make us see the picture, 
for you saw it clearly and strongly yourself. We 
hear the old bell tolling in the belfry. We see the 
tall and gaunt old bell-ringer in the porch below. 
The wagons driving up to the meeting-house steps ; 
the country people, a little stiff in their best clothes, 
and with their grave Sunday faces, passing down the 
aisle, and entering the pews ; the good old minister, 
and the sermon, which seems so long to the little 
boys on the hard seats ; the singing of the choir ; the 
birds singing outside; — why, you make us see and 
feel everything, even to the doves that alight on the 
window-sill, and the bad boys trading jack-knives in 
the wagons under the sheds. You did not run so 
much to pretty fancies in this, because you were so 
full of the subject. You were at home in ‘The Old 
Meeting-House,’ but not in ‘ Golboda : a Komance of 
the African Coast.’ ’T is a poem, — a little loose in 
some of the lines, here and there, — but still a poem. 
If you had worked a week at it, instead of a few 
hours, as you probably did, you would have made 
something striking and excellent.” 

“You really think, then,” said George, with re- 
kindling hope, “ that I have some — talent ? ” 

“ A great deal,” replied the bookseller, cordially. 

“ And that I can hope to — to earn something 
with my pen ? ” 


GEORGE AND THE BOOKSELLER. 


141 


“ That is another thing. Poetry — even good poe- 
try — is n’t a commodity that it pays very well for 
anybody to write. A few poets have received large 
sums for their verses, but they are the rare excep- 
tions. Hundreds fail where a single one succeeds. 
No, my dear sir, don’t think of relying upon poetry 
for a livelihood.” 

“ I have sometimes written a little prose, — essays, 
stories,” faltered George. And he timidly took “ The 
Mohawk Spy ” from his pocket. 

“ This is more like what the newspapers and mag- 
azines are willing to pay money for,” said the book- 
seller, glancing at the manuscript. 

He read a passage here and there. George watched 
him with an anxiety so keen that it was almost an- 
guish. Of this man’s good-will and sound judgment 
he was so thoroughly convinced, that it seemed to 
him almost as if his life depended on the sentence 
about to fall from his lips. 

“ I take it, you are a stranger in the city,” remarked 
the bookseller. 

“ A perfect stranger.” 

And you have not an abundant supply of 
means ? ” 

George was prompted to reply that he and his 
friend had a shilling between them, earned by carry- 
ing a trunk ; but his characteristic diffidence — or 
shall we call it false shame ? — checked the confes- 
sion. 

“ I am dependent on my own exertions for 


142 


FAST FRIENDS. 


my bread,” was bis more elegant way of put- 
ting it. 

“And you have no other employment except 
writing ? ” 

“ None.” 

“ But there is nobody dependent on you for a sup- 
port ? That is fortunate. I see that the pursuit of 
literature, in some form, is a passion with you ; and 
it would be useless for me to attempt to dissuade you 
from it. If you are virtuous and frugal and hardy 
and heroic, there is hope of your final success. Mean- 
while, you must be prepared to encounter slights, 
disappointments, privations. No matter how hard 
your bed and how bitter your crust: a soldier of 
fortune can sleep beneath the stars. But, if at any 
time you suspect that money is sweeter than the 
Muse, — if you prefer luxurious habits to a life of 
patient and prudent industry, — then say good by to 
the pen, and try almost any other occupation.” 

In George’s eyes shone bright tears, as he replied, 
in tones thrilling with a fine enthusiasm, “ Give me 
literature and daily bread, before honors, riches, every- 
thing ! That ’s my choice.” 

“ Then I say, God speed you 1 ” replied the book- 
seller, with a sympathetic glimmer in his own eyes. 
“ Meanwhile, don’t be afraid of turning your hand to 
any other occupation, however humble, to earn the 
necessary bread, till you have gained a foothold in 
literature.” 

“ I have made up my mind to that,” said George, 


GEORGE AND THE BOOKSELLER. 


143 


whose heart, so lately despairing, was now fired with 
heroic resolution. 

“ Come with me,” then said the bookseller, putting 
on his hat. 

George followed, wonderingly, as this new, wise, 
and kind friend conducted him a short distance down 
the street, and then up two flights of office stairs, to 
a door, on which were lettered the words, so charming 
to the young poet’s fancy : — 

UPTON’S LITERARY MAGAZINE. — EDITOR’S ROOM. 

Mr. Upton was in, — a fleshy young man, of a 
rather dashy appearance, — and George was intro- 
duced, with a kind word from the bookseller, who 
then withdrew. 

“ I will read your manuscript to-night,” said tlie 
editor. (It was “ The Mohawk Spy,” which George 
had placed in his hands.) I hope it is a good story ; 
for I am in want of a few first-rate, capital stories, — 
something out of the beaten track.” 

George said he hoped he might have the pleasure 
of writing a few such for him ; since, if the maga- 
zine needed the articles, he needed the pay for them 
still more. He remembered his experience with the 
“Western Empire,” and thought it best to have the 
mercantile part of the transaction understood at once. 

“ My magazine is a new thing, — hardly established 
yet, and I can’t afford the prices now wliich I mean 
to pay by and by. I pay a dollar a page, wlien the 


144 


FAST FRIENDS. 


article is published. I hope this arrangement "svill 
suit you, and that your articles will suit the maga- 
zine.” 

George, glad of the prospect of any pay in the 
future, expressed himself satisfied, and went home, 
feeling — as he said to Jack afterwards — like a 
youth who had gone out in search of a castle in the 
air, and found himseK at night only too happy to lay 
his head in a hut. 


AN EVENING AT BOWERY HALL. 


145 


CHAPTER XXII. 

AN EVENING AT BOWERY HALL. 

George was indeed so much encouraged by the 
prospect of gaining a subsistence with his pen, that 
he quite abandoned the idea of earning more shillings 
by carrying trunks, or of playing the flute to Jack’s 
dancing, at some of the great hotels. 

"Wait, at all events, till I hear from my manu- 
script to-morrow,” he urged. 

" But you don’t expect to get pay for it to-morrow,” 
J ack argued. " The week is slipping away, another 
board-bill will be due Saturday evening, and how are 
we going to meet it ? ” 

" If I can get one piece accepted, that will make 
an opening for me elsewhere, and the money wiU 
begin to come in.” 

“ Yes, to you, perhaps, but not to me. What am I 
going to do ? ” 

" If I earn anything, it will be the same as if you 
earned it, you know,” said George. 

" I don't know ! ” exclaimed Jack. " I must be 
doing something to pay my way, till I get through 
with my business here. I don’t yet give that up. 
When I do, then I give up New York too, and work 
my passage on the boats straight back to Mr. Chat- 
7 J 


146 


FAST FRIENDS. 


ford’s. But I sha’ n’t run in debt, in the mean while, 
if I can help it, — not even to you, George, generous 
as you are ! And you may he counting chickens that 
will never he hatched,” Jack added, with a rather 
desolate smile. 

They ’ll he hatched some time,” cried George, con- 
fidently. 

He went to the attic door to answer a rap. 

A servant-girl handed in a note, which, she said, a 
hoy had just left at the door for the “ young gentle- 
man.” 

^^For me ?” said George, eagerly, thinking it must 
he from some editor he had called on, and that it 
contained tidings of fortune. But the note was ad- 
dressed to Jack. 

Greatly surprised, Jack opened it, and read as 
follows : — 

Bowery Hall, Tuesday p. m. 

Dear Sir : Call and See me this Evening. My Triangle 
is sick, and I have a Magnificent Idea. ■ — Resp’lly, 

Lucius Fitz Dingle, 
Proprietor Colored Artist Troupe. 


“His triangle sick!” cried Jack. “Who ever 
heard of a sick triangle ? ” 

“It can’t be triangle ! ” said George, taking the 
letter. “ It is, though 1 ” And for a while both hoys 
were as much puzzled as if Fitz Dingle had gravely 
informed them that his rhomboid had the measles, or 
his hypothenuse was down with a fever. “ I have 


AN EVENING AT BOWERY HALL. 


147 


it ! ” George suddenly exclaimed. A triangle is a 
kind of musical instrument.” 

“So it is!” laughed Jack. “And he means the 
member of his troupe who plays it. I ’m not glad,” 
he added, gleefully, “ that a triangle, or any other 
geometrical figure, should be laid up with sickness ; 
but I ’m going around to Bowery Hall, to see what 
this affliction has. to do with me.” 

“ If you can work into his ' magnificent idea,’ then 
we are in clover,” said George, — “you with your 
heels, and I with my pen ! ” 

Jack insisted on his friend’s accompanying him, 
and they set out for Bowery Hall. 

The place was easily found. Approaching, they 
saw from afar off, through the mist (for it was a 
drizzly evening), a huge transparency over the side- 
walk, painted with the life-size figure of a colored 
minstrel playing a banjo, and grinning with a mar- 
vellous display of ivory, on a glowing background of 
gas-lit canvas. Beneath this they passed into a 
broad doorway, mounted a flight of stairs, and pre- 
sented their tickets to the foremost of two men who 
stood just inside the entrance door of the hall. 

“ Keep your tickets — keep your tickets ; pass 
right in — pass right in,” cried .the second man, with 
one good eye winking keenly at them over a hooked 
nose, while the lids of the other were peeling slowly 
apart. “ Welcome to Bowery Hall 1 I ’ll talk witli 
you by and by. Walk right in — walk right in; 
you ’ll see what a unique and elegant show it is I ” 


148 


FAST FRIENDS. 


And Mr. Fitz Dingle (for we recognize that enterpris- 
ing proprietor) took the trouble to conduct them to 
eligible seats, placarded “Eeserved,” well down in 
front. 

The hall did not strike the boys as particularly 
elegant. Neither was the display of fashion on the 
part of the spectators so dazzling as might have been 
expected. The audience was good-humored, and 
somewhat coarse and loud, and addicted overmuch 
to caterwauling and peanuts. 

That tlie place was not ventilated in the most ap- 
proved modern style soon became apparent. At the 
same time, into the dim atmosphere of steam and 
dust from the assembling crowd, went up a terrific 
noise of stamping and hooting and whistling from 
youthful spectators, who found it necessary thus to 
give vent to their excessive vitality while waiting for 
the performance to begin. A rattling piano, which 
did service in place of orchestra, struggled heroically 
against the overwhelming torrent of confused noises, 
and sometimes went down with a faint tinkle scarcely 
heard amid the breakers, and sometimes rode tri- 
umphantly on ^ lull. 

At length the curtain rose, discovering the min- 
strels seated in a semicircle fronting the audience. 
Their faces were very black, their shirt-collars very 
large and very white, and their coats and trousers all 
much too long or much too short, or designed in some 
other way to produce a burlesque effect. 

These artists were five in number, and each was 


AN EVENING AT BOWERY HALL. 


149 


provided with some instrument of music. There 
were a banjo, a set of bones, a bass-viol, a fiddle, and 
a flute. The audience and the piano were silenced, 
and there was a hush of expectation, broken by the 
rich bass voice of one of the performers : — 

“ Good morning, Dandy Jim ! ” 

“Good morning yourself, Mr. Jones,” replied the 
mellow tenor of Dandy Jim. 

“ I ’ve cogitated one or two skientific questions I ’d 
like to dispose to you and the other gentlemen of the 
profession,” continued Mr. Jones. 

He was invited to “ elucidate ” ; and thereupon 
followed two or three conundrums and other small 
jokes, hardly of a nature to be transferred to these 
pages. They had the desired effect, however, of 
making the audience laugh. Then Mr. Jones in- 
quired : — 

“ How about that song I heard you singing under 
your lady’s window last night. Dandy Jim ? ” 

After considerable dispute about the lady’s win- 
dow, and many bashful excuses on the part of the 
sentimental Jim, when urged to favor the company 
with the said song, Mr. Jones proposed that they 
should keep him in countenance by all singing to- 
gether. This agreed upon, the whole troupe burst 
into a chorus of melody, which so encouraged and 
inspired Jim, that he was afterwards enabled to 
perform his solo, with a banjo accompaniment, in a 
manner which brought out uproarious applause from 
the audience. 


150 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Then came more conundrums, and then more vocal 
and instrumental music, accompanied by some really 
comical acting. 

“ I don’t wonder Fitz Dingle boasted he had the 
best Bones in this or any other country ] ” said 
George, laughing till the tears ran down his cheeks. 
“ Look at the fellow ! ” 

After Dandy Jim had melodiously informed the 
audience that he was the best-looking nigger in the 
county, 0 !” and the remarkable fact that Nellie Ely 
was in the habit of shutting her eye when she went 
to sleep, had become pretty well established, — and 
Susannah had been pathetically entreated not to 
weep for the young man who was going to Alabama 
with his banjo on his knee, — there was a lull in the 
songs and conundrums, which was presently enlivened 
by a new arrival. 

A very tall and slim, and very awkward plantation 
darky entered upon the scene, staring about him in 
a way which indicated inexperience of the world. 
Some coarse jokes passed between him and his more 
polite and better informed brethren; when, after 
walking around them, and staring with stupid won- 
der at their coat-tails and shirt-collars, as if he had 
never seen fashionably dressed darkies before, he 
wished to be enlightened as to that ‘‘ quar, loug- 
handled skillet with strings,” which Dandy Jim held 
in his hand. His thirst for knowledge was gratified 
by the information that it was a banjo. He then 
wished to know “ what it was fer ” ; at which simple 


AN EVENING AT BOWERY HALL. 


151 


questions Bones seemed in imminent danger of turn- 
ing himself inside out with excessive merriment. 
Dandy Jim, by way of explanation, obligingly touched 
a string. At the first note, the electrified questioner 
leaped — his length of limb proving favorable to the 
movement — half across the stage. At the second 
note, he leaped as far in another direction. At a 
third touch, — which Dandy Jim ventured, reckless 
of consequences, — he jumped completely over Bones, 
who keeled from his seat to the floor in shrieking 
hysterics, and came up chattering and gibbering and 
snapping his eyes, more like a terrified ape than any- 
thing human. 

Dandy Jim gradually passed from his staccato 
prelude into a lively plantation jig, which carried th*e 
long-limbed leaper with it into a dance, which made 
George and Jack nudge each other hard. 

“ He ’s the new man ! ” “ It ’s Goffer ! ” they whis- 

pered to each other. 

It was now his brother artists’ turn to be overcome 
by wonder and admiration, which Bones, particularly, 
illustrated by some very laughable performances. He 
hopped about the dancer like a toad ; now stretching 
up tall to look over him, now crouching low to look 
under his feet, and even getting leaped over two or 
three times when curiosity carried him too far. All 
the while he kept up an amusing accompaniment 
with his clappers, which advanced with cautious 
clicks, or rattled with starts of astonishment, or 
whirled off in fits of insane rapture, expressive of 
the mixed emotions of his soul. 


152 


FAST FRIENDS. 


The new-comer wound up by snatching the banjo, 
and picking the strings to his own dancing ; which 
feat so overcame Bones, that he tumbled flat upon 
his back, and clappered and kicked with legs and 
arms in the air. 

“ That ’s good,” commented George, when the dance 
was near its conclusion ; “ but it is n’t you ! ” 

“ It ’s great jumping, but not what I call — ” 

Jack had got so far in his criticism, when a young 
man touched him on the shoulder, and said that Mr. 
Fitz Dingle would like to speak with him. 

“ Wait here till I come back,” he said to George, 
and followed the messenger. 


FITZ DINGLE AND THE COLORED MINSTRELS. 153 


CHAPTEE XXIIL 

FITZ DINGLE AND THE COLORED MINSTRELS. 

Jack was taken around the hall by the outer cir- 
cle, then through a little corner door into a passage 
beside the stage. Glancing through openings in the 
wing, he could see the artists still at their antics; 
and he came near running against the tall Mr. Goffer, 
who had just come off. 

“ Beg pardon ! ” said Jack, who “ felt queer ” (as he 
afterwards told his friend) on finding himself in per- 
sonal contact with a being who seemed to him a sort 
of embodied fiction, — a creature who did not belong 
to the actual world. 

“No harm,” replied Goffer, fanning his blackened 
face with his plantation hat. “ Where ’s Eitz Dingle ? ” 

“ This way,” said a voice farther on ; and Jack 
caught sight of the hooked nose and comical eye at 
the end of the passage. The other eye was twinkling 
with great satisfaction, — at Goffer, however, not at 
Jack. 

“ How was it, eh ? ” said Goffer, as Eitz Dingle 
took them into the company’s dressing-room. 

“ Capital ! a decided hit ! ” said the manager. “For 
a first appearance — good 1 very good ! What do you 
say to it ? ” turning to Jack. 

7 * 


154 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ I thouglit the whole performance very entertain- 
ing,” Jack replied. 

“ Of course. I knew you would he delighted. My 
show, in its characteristic features, has n’t its equal 
in the world ; I say it boldly, — not in the civilized 
world. In its peculiar features, you understand. 
What part pleased you most ? ” 

“ 0, Bones I think the funniest fellow ! I never 
saw anything so ludicrous ! ” 

Bones is a finished artist — a great genius ! ” said 
Fitz Dingle. He is an entertainment of himself. 
But there ’s one difficulty — the public are used to 
him ; and what a show like this needs is variety — 
novelty — surprise. Goffer is a surprise, — though, 
between me and you ” (lowering his voice, and glan- 
cing at the tall artist, who had walked off to a looking- 
glass), “ he ain’t a great genius like Bones ; he won’t 
last like Bones ; I shall be obliged to supplement 
him — follow him up with some new attraction. 
Sir!” said Fitz Dingle, expanding his soiled white 
waistcoat, and putting on a fierce, pompous look, 
“ you Ve no conception of the vast amount of 
thought it requires — the talent, the tact, I may say, 
the genius ” (touching his forehead) — “ to keep up an 
entertainment like this. The public sees the splen- 
did result ; but the public does not see — the public 
is blind ” (he stuck his bad eye very tightly together, 
as if to represent the public vision) — “ blind, sir, to 
the intellectual power, and the vast strain upon the 
intellectual power, behind the scenes.” 


FITZ DINGLE AND THE COLOEED MINSTRELS. 155 



^'THE talent, the tact, I MAT SAY, THE GENIUS.” 


Jack, anxious to come to business, interrupted this 
harangue with, “You wrote me that your Triangle 
was sick.” 

“ Yes ; gave up this afternoon. A very useful man 
— not brilliant — good fair tenor — consumption, I ’m 
afraid — and that put into my head an idea,” Fitz 



156 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Dingle rattled on. And he proceeded to unfold the 
said idea, while Jack listened with reddening cheeks 
and downcast eyes. “ What do you say, young 
man ? ” 

“ I ’m afraid I never could ! ” said Jack. “ I don’t 
mean playing the triangle, I think I could do that,” 
— for Fitz Dingle had produced the instrument, and 
shown how simple a thing it was for a person with a 
good notion of time ” to learn to play it, — '' hut the 
other part ! ” and Jack shook his head, laughing at 
the ridiculous suggestion. 

“ There ’s no doubt about it whatever ! ” Fitz 
Dingle declared. “You can adapt yourself. I ’ll 
see to everything. Only put yourself under my 
direction. Attend our rehearsals the rest of the 
week, and give your whole mind to the business ; 
then I ’ll make a special announcement of you for 
next Monday night, when your engagement and pay 
will begin.” 

“ What is the pay to be ?” Jack inquired, poising 
the triangle in his left hand, and touching it softly 
with the striker. 

“ Three dollars a week at first, with a chance of 
three or four times that amount in as many w^eeks, 
in case you prove a big success, as I ’ve no doubt you 
will.” 

The temptation was too great to be resisted by an 
enterprising lad in Jack’s straightened circumstances ; 
and the bargain was closed. 

“ ISTow, if we could get a fresh hand, to make us up 


FITZ DINGLE AND THE COLORED MINSTRELS. 157 


a little dialogue, — something rich and sparkling, you 
know, — for your dayhew — ” 

“ My what ? ” queried Jack. 

“ Excuse me. I forget you ’re not a professional. 
' Dayhew ’ — first appearance.” (French, dehut.) 
“ You ’ll soon catch the terms. I ’ve generally 
arranged the jokes and conversations, with a little 
assistance from Bones and Dandy Jim. But our 
stock is getting rather threadbare, and I ’d give a 
good price for something new and racy.” 

With the instinct of true friendship. Jack had 
constantly, in his thoughts, connected George with 
his own advancing fortunes; and now he eagerly 
caught at an opportunity of turning the new position 
of affairs to his friend’s advantage. 

The young fellow you saw with me, — he is an 
author ; writes for the magazines and newspapers, — • 
prose, poetry, stories, songs, — I don’t know what 
else; he could get you up something.” 

Is he a joker ? ” inquired Eitz Dingle. 

“ Capital ! ” said Jack. “ He is always making 
puns and conundrums.” Which was, indeed, the 
truth, although it has not been developed in these 
pages, for the reason that what is funny enough in 
jocose conversation, is too apt to appear flat in 
print. 

“ Bring him with you to the rehearsals,” said Eitz 
Dingle. “ If he is up to the business, no doubt I can 
give him highly lucrative employment. In short,” 
he added, with the usual swell and flourish and peel- 


158 


FAST FRIENDS. 


ing open of the comical eye, “put yourselves under my 
direction, and you are sure of large incomes ; I may 
say fortunes, — fortunes, young man ! ” 

The first part of the performance was now over^ 
and during the intermission the room was thronged 
by the minstrels, lounging about, talking in their 
natural tones, and perhaps touching up their faces 
with burnt cork. The contrast of their easy and 
quiet behavior, with their artificial complexions and 
grotesque costumes, struck Jack almost as funnily as 
anything they did on the stage. Bones was especially 
an object of curiosity to him ; and he was much sur- 
prised to find that incarnation of buffoonery the most 
serious and gentlemanly person of the troupe. Dan- 
dy Jim alone seemed inclined to carry the tricks and 
grimaces of his assumed character into private life. 

Jack walked about on the stage while the curtain 
was down, and talked with Fitz Dingle and Goffer, 
and even enjoyed the high lion or of exchanging a few 
words with that eminent person of genius, Mr. Bones. 
Seeing the proprietor applying his good eye to a little 
hole in the curtain, through which, himself unseen, 
he could survey the audience on the other side. Jack 
went and took his turn at the aperture. A misty sea 
of faces was before him ; and it must be owned that 
a curious feeling came over the boy, at the thought 
of his appearing before such an audience on the fol- 
lowing Monday night. 

He saw George sitting alone, and looking rather 
melancholy, down in front; and wished he could 


FITZ DINGLE AND THE COLORED MINSTRELS. 159 

make himself seen by him through the eyelet. But 
just then Fitz Dingle touched him on the shoulder. 
Looking around, he perceived that the minstrels had 
already taken their places, in readiness for the second 
part of the performance. The bell tinkled, and Jack’s 
heels had just time to disappear in the wing when 
the curtain rose. 


160 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

PEN AND PURSE. 

Great was the astonishment of George, when his 
friend returned to the seat beside him, and told him, 
in gleeful whispers, the result of his interview with 
Eitz Dingle. . 

But I never can write negro talk I ” he said, 
smothering his laughter. 

“ This is n’t negro talk,” replied J ack, “ but only a 
kind of made-up lingo. You can catch it, and then 
make up some more, as well as anybody.” 

George did not say whether he thought he could 
or not. But he now regarded the minstrels with 
fresh interest ; and on the way home, and for hours, 
after he got to bed, his brain teemed with dialogues 
and songs, with which (as he fondly hoped) future 
audiences in Bowery Hall were to be kept in a roar. 

At ten o’clock the next day, he went with Jack to 
the rehearsal, and showed Eitz Dingle a few things 
which he had jotted down. 

The professional eye sparkled with satisfaction. 

“ Excellent ! Capital ! You ’ve got the idea, ex- 
actly. It only needs working up. You ’ve dramatic 
talent, too, — why, here ’s a very good dramatic situ- 
ation ! I believe, after a little study and experience. 


PEN AND PURSE. 


161 


you can write us a play, a regular low-comedy piece, 
— hits at the times, — interspersed with songs and 
dances — appropriate parts for all our artists ! ” And 
Fitz Dingle puffed and glared and winked his good eye, 
and closed and peeled open the funny one, in the enthu- 
siasm kindled by these fertile suggestions of his genius. 

George was greatly encouraged ; and he began at 
once to think of writing something which should not 
only suit Fitz Dingle, and divert the public, hut also 
serve to elevate the character of the performances at 
Bowery Hall. 

" I believe,” thought he, “ that an entertainment 
need not be too broadly burlesque, in order to be 
amusing ; and who knows — ” His mind wandering 
off in a splendid, but rather vague, vision of future 
success and usefulness. 

The rehearsal was nothing like what the hoys 
thought it would be. The minstrels did not take the 
trouble to black their faces, or change their clothes, 
or even their manners, for the occasion, but appeared 
much like commonplace mortals, met together to 
talk over a dull matter of business. Nobody would 
have believed that the serious man with the clappers 
in his hands, who languidly went through his part, 
like one but half awake, was the inimitable mimic, 
the inspired Bones, of the night before. 

“ Now, my lad,” cried Fitz Dingle, approaching 
Jack, after the new things for the evening’s perform- 
ance had been arranged, I want you to show the 
gentlemen what you can do.” 


162 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Jack modestly took a position near the centre of 
the stage, and waited for Mr. Jenkins (the Dandy 
Jim of the previous night) to get ready his banjo and 
play an appropriate air. George stood near by, anx- 
iously watching him, while Fitz Dingle and his artists 
were grouped around. The dance began rather quietly, 
and George feared his friend might have caught too 
much of the careless spirit of the rehearsal. But 
gradually Jack warmed up to his work ; his face be- 
came animated, his attitudes agile and jaunty, and 
every movement alive with a lithe grace and gayety ; 
so, with hand on hip, or flung airily above his head, 
he went through with his marvellous double-shuffle, 
and, at the close, bowed laughingly at an imaginary 
audience in the hall. 

Fitz Dingle clapped enthusiastically; others nod- 
ded approvingly; and the serious Mr. Bones was 
heard to remark, at George’s elbow, that a young 
fellow who could do that could do anything. Only 
Goffer, it was observed, made no sign, but walked off, 
looking melancholy. 

After that. Jack touched the triangle to the music 
of the banjo, and found that he could easily master 
that instrument of sweetly tinkling sounds. Then 
he and his friend went home, highly elated with the 
result of the forenoon’s business. 

In the afternoon, George called at the office of 
“ Upton’s Literary Magazine,” and met with a cordial 
reception from the dashy young editor. 

“ Pretty good story,” said Mr. Upton, taking the 


PEN AND PURSE. 


163 


manuscript from a pigeon-liole over his desk. “ Will 
make about five and a half pages. I shall try to get 
it into our next number. Not in the June, — that is 
already in type ; but the July.” 

So at last George had got one article really accepted 
by a paying magazine ! It was a great event in his 
history; at least, it seemed so to him then. The 
editor’s manner had prepared him for the welcome 
news, and he was not visibly excited by it ; only a 
glistening of the eye and a tremor of the lips betray- 
ing the inward relief and satisfaction which he felt. 

“ Do you think I can write something else for 
you ? ” he quietly asked. 

“ Yes ; good short stories. And it has occurred to 
me that you can write us a novelette, to run through, 
say, half a dozen numbers. I see you ’ve got what 
few young writers have, — an idea of character. 
Your ' Old Backwoodsman ’ is first-rate. Perhaps a 
trifle too Death erstockingish (you ’ve read Cooper, I 
see), but not enough to do any hurt. You ’ve dra- 
matic talent too ; did you know it ? ” 

So I ’ve been told,” George replied, with a smile, 
remembering the words of Fitz Dingle. 

Suppose you try your hand at a novelette, and 
let me see the first chapters ; I can tell whether you 
hit the nail on the head. Good, lively stories, full 
of humor and human nature, — plenty of incident, 
good plot, and all that, — are rare in the market ; and 
I believe you ’re up to just that sort of thing. What 
do you say ? ” 


164 


FAST FRIENDS. 


George said, that, with such encouragement, he 
should like extremely well to try his hand at the 
work proposed. And he left the editorial presence 
with a heart so light that he seemed to be treading 
on air. 

He scarcely knew which way he walked, but turned 
his steps instinctively towards his favorite place of 
resort, — the Battery, — where the sight of the green 
grass, and the trees, and the dashing water, and the 
bay enlivened with ferry-boats and sails, might well 
bring refreshment to the heart of a country boy in 
town. 

There, under the powerful stimulus of knowing 
that his talents were recognized, and that something 
was wanted of him, George thought of the subject, 
and of some of the characters and scenes, of a nov- 
elette for Mr. Upton, which he determined to begin 
without delay. It was to be a story of pioneer life, 
embodying some of the early settlers’ adventures with 
the Indians, which he remembered to have heard 
related in his childhood. 

The shilling which had been earned by carrying a 
trunk, was now boldly invested in foolscap, and the 
front attic of Mrs. Libby’s house assumed a decidedly 
literary aspect. George commenced ‘‘Jacob Price, the 
Pioneer,” and divided his time between that and the 
work he had undertaken for Bowery Hall. It must be 
owned that the romance was much more to his taste 
than the dialogues, and that his interest in these was 
kept up only because they promised a present gain. 


PEN AND PURSE. 


165 


wliile lie could not expect pay for his magazine arti- 
cles until they were published. 

As Saturday night was drawing near, when the 
boys would have to pay another week’s board in ad- 
vance, if they stayed at Mrs. Libby’s, George did not 
neglect the newspaper offices, where he had hoped to 
raise a little money on his poems and sketches. He 
met with no success. He found editors willing 
enough to print his articles, but not to pay for them. 
And even Fitz Dingle, who had a sharp eye for his 
own interests, turned only the dull one (provokingly 
stuck together) to the boys’ necessities, which they 
respectfully laid before him. 

It ’s against my rule,” he said, to pay anybody 
a cent in advance. If I should break that rule, my 
whole troupe would come down on me. Every one 
would want assistance. My business would be ruined. 
Artists (between ourselves) are the most improvident 
set of men in the world.” 

It was not so clear to the boys that a loan of four 
dollars, to relieve their immediate distress, would in- 
volve Bowery Hall in ultimate disaster. But men 
who have at heart no principle of action will often 
insist most strenuously upon one which they find it 
convenient to assume. And so Fitz Dingle, who 
might have told the boys truly that he could not 
always pay what he actually owed chose to put tliem 
off with a pretence. 


166 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XXV. 

PROFESSOR DE WALDO AND MASTER FELIX. 

On Saturday, as George was retiring from a news- 
paper office with a rejected manuscript, a stranger, 
with a smiling countenance, and in seedy apparel, — 
his coat buttoned to his chin, — followed him out. 

*‘You are a writer, I believe,” said the man, ac- 
costing him at the foot of the stairs. 

‘‘ In a humble way,” George admitted. 

“ On the contrary,” said the man, with a flattering 
smile, on a lean and not very prepossessing visage, 
“ I think you are a very good writer.” And he bowed 
deferentially, placing his hand on his chest, across 
which his coat was tightly buttoned. 

George, who was in no mood to be trifled with, 
and did not quite like the stranger’s manners, asked 
what means he had of forming such an opinion. 

“ From your talk with the editor, up stairs. He 
made a great mistake in rejecting your piece. I 
think it was because you wanted pay for it.” 

“ I think so too,” said George. 

“ Allow me to glance at it. Excuse the liberty,” 
said the man, with a skinny smile, “ but I am — ha 
— a little in the literary line myself.” 

" An author ? ” 


PROFESSOR DE WALDO AND MASTER FELIX. 167 


The man pleasantly shook his head. “ Guess agin.” 

“ An editor ? ” said George, reluctantly giving the 
manuscript. 

“ Neither,” replied the man, politely receiving it. 
‘‘Ah! I see you are indeed a ready writer. Would 
that I had the wings of a dove, and that mine enemy 
had written a book ! ” he added, softly and sweetly, 
though somewhat irrelevantly, as it seemed to George. 
“ I am Professor De Waldo.” 

“ Indeed ? ” said George, because he did not know 
what else to say. 

“ Professor of Biological Science and Mesmerism. 
You write for money. I am in the way of getting 
things wrote, which I pay money for. I think we 
can trade. Thank you.” And Professor De Waldo 
returned the manuscript with a bow, adding, “Ee- 
markably fine, I am sure ! ” 

George now became interested, and wished to know 
what he could do for the Professor of Biological Sci- 
ence and Mesmerism. 

“ I have to lay my discoveries Before the public. 
In a condensed and cheerful way, — no long-winded 
treatise, you understand, — in short, a hand-bill.” 

“ I know nothing about Biological Science or Mes- 
merism,” George objected. 

“ Not necessary. Come to my room. I ’ll give 
you the ideas, and you shall put ’em in words. 
Something in this style.” And Professor De Waldo 
showed him a soiled slip of printed paper, — evidently 
the advertisement of some quack doctor, — which he 
wished to have imitated. 


168 


FAST FRIENDS. 


George saw that it would not require much pro- 
fessional knowledge or literary skill to write such a 
document ; and with a smile he said he thought he 
could do it. 

“ How much will it be worth to you, — a paper 
about the length of this ? ” he inquired. 

“ Fix your own price ; money is a small considera- 
tion with me,” answered the professor, loftily. 

But George, who was to undertake the job solely 
for the money it would bring him in (just as he 
would have undertaken to carry trunks or dig pota- 
toes), required a rather more definite statement of 
terms. 

0, five or ten dollars, — not less than five ; hut 
we ’ll arrange that without any trouble. The laborer 
is worthy of his hire,” said the liberal professor, “ and 
I am one that had always druther pay too much than 
too little, especially to literary men. Come with me.” 

He took George to a somewhat shabhy-looking 
house on Murray Street, in the doorway of which 
stood a shabhy-looking lad, amusing himself by blow- 
ing peas through a tube, at some doves in the gutter. 

Any callers ? ” asked the professor of this youth- 
ful marksman. 

“ Nobody but the furniture man,” the boy replied, 
with a grin. He blew a pea, and added, “ He brought 
his bill again, for the sofa-bed.” 

“ Never mind about that,” said the professor, shortly. 
Then, turning to George, “ This is my mesmeric sub- 
ject, — Master Felix, — a very remarkable clairvoy- 
ant. Walk up stairs.” 


PROFESSOR DE WALDO AND MASTER FELIX. 169 



‘^ANY CALLERS?” ASKED THE PROFESSOR, 


Preceded by tlie professor, and followed by the 
mesmeric subject, George went up one flight, to a 
gloomy back room, lighted by a single window tliat 
looked out on a narrow court between high brick 
walls. 

“ Take a seat here at the table. 1 11 give ye the 

8 


170 


FAST FRIENDS. 


pints while you write ’em down. To begin with — 
Master Felix, tell the gentleman how you happen to 
be with me.” 

The professor was lecturing in our town,” began 
the boy, preparing to blow a pea out of the window. 

“ Put up your pastime, and ’tend to business,” said 
the professor. “ I was lecterin’ in your town, was I ? 
And what town was that ? Be explicit. Facts is 
facts.” 

“ Chester, Pennsylvania,” said the boy, stooping to 
pick up a pea he had dropped. 

On the Delaware Eiver ; a very old and very re- 
spectable town,” added the professor. “ Any person,” 
— he made a sweeping gesture with his hands, and 
stood as if addressing an audience, — “ any person or 
persons doubtin’ the facts of this very wonderful case, 
can easily satisfy themselves by takin’ the slight 
trouble of runnin’ down to Chester, and makin’ care- 
ful inquiries — too much care cannot be took in such 
matters — of any number of people, includin’ three 
clergymen and five physicians, whose names I shall 
be most happy to furnish. I was lecterin’ in the 
place, to a remarkably large and intelligent aujence, 
when this young gentleman — But tell your own 
story.” Seeing the tube still in the boy’s hands, he 
muttered in a gruff undertone, “ Put up that pop-gun, 
or I ’ll smash it.” Then added, blandly, aloud, “ Tell 
your own story. Master Felix.” 

“ I was in the back part of the hall, when you 
was lecturing, and I felt your magnetic powder, and 


PROFESSOR DE WALDO AND MASTER FELIX. 171 


marched down the aisle, and up to the platform, — 
at least, so they tell me ; for I never knew how I got 
there.” 

“ No ; and you did n’t know how you read with 
your eyes bandaged, and told what was in the pockets 
of the gentlemen in the front seats, — one thing being 
a lock of a young lady’s hair in a letter, which the 
young man was very much ashamed, and the aujence 
amused. You did n’t know it ; and wliy ? ” 

“ I suppose, ’cause I was under the influence.” 

Because he was under the influence,” repeated 
the professor, still addressing George as if he were a 
large public assembly. “And why. Master Felix, 
have you been here with me ever since ? ” 

“ ’Cause I could n’t help it ; felt drawn to ye. If 
the professor is miles away,” said Master Felix, in 
his turn addressing the audience, “ I feel him, and 
can’t be easy, partic’larly if he wills me to come to 
him ; then I have to go.” 

“No matter how dark the night, or how thick the 
bandages on his eyes, if I will him to come to me, — 
wherever I be, — he comes. Is that so. Master Fe- 
lix ? A most marvellous clairvoyant ! ” the professor 
went on ; “ can pint out lost or stolen articles, and 
prescribe for all kinds of diseases with most aston- 
ishin’ success. The medicines I have prepared under 
his direction is the most extraordinary now in use.” 

George glanced from the professor to the mesmeric 
subject, and said he thought it quite likely. 

“ I ’ve lectered and given public exhibitions with 


172 


FAST FRIENDS. 


this boy in a great many places/’ continued De Wal- 
do ; “ and now we open here next week, with private 
settins in this room, to which the public is respec’- 
fully invited. What I want is somethin’ takin’, for 
a hand-bill, — somethin’ to excite curiosity, and bring 
in the crowd. And now for the main pints, which 
you can fill up from your fancy.” 

George took down the “ pints,” and said he thought 
he could have the paper ready that evening. 

"Very well,” replied the professor; "then this 
evenin’ you shall have the cash for it; five dollars if 
it ’s good, and ten dollars if it ’s very good. E'ow, put 
in the big licks, — make it flamin’, ye know, and, 
above all, good-natered ; for, whatever else ye may 
call me, I ’m the best-natered man in the world. — 
Master Felix, show the gentleman down stairs.” 


MRS. LIBBY IS “ MUCH OBLEEGED.’ 


173 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

MRS. LIBBY IS “MUCH OBLEEGED.” 

George reached home at dinner-time ; when, meet- 
ing Jack, he told him briefly of his encounter with 
De Waldo, and of the job he had undertaken. 

“Don’t put it into my biography, if you live to 
write it ! ” said he, laughing and blushing. “ I was 
never more ashamed of anything ; and my conscience 
troubles me a little. I ’m sure the professor is a 
humbug, and am I not aiding and abetting him ? ” 

“ But it ’s a big price, and I don’t know Avhat we 
should do without the money. I say, secure that, 
humbug or no humbug ! ” replied Jack, gayly. And 
so our boys did as men are too prone to do, letting 
the loud voice of necessity overwhelm the delicate 
sense of right and wrong. 

George would have been disgusted with his task, 
but for the fun he got out of it. He drew on his wit 
for his inspiration, and laughed well over the ludi- 
crous extravagance of phrase in which he indulged, 
and which he believed would suit the professor. At 
five o’clock his hand-bill was written, and neatly 
copied ; and, in high spirits, he set out to get his 
pay for it. 

He found Master Felix standing in the door of 


174 


FAST FRIENDS. 


the sliabby-genteel house, looking melancholy, there 
being no doves to shoot peas at, — or it may be the 
professor had confiscated his gun, and destroyed his 
Ammunition. 

“ He has got a caller,” said the boy. He can’t 
see any one just yet.” 

“Tell him I have brought the document,” replied 
George. 

Master Felix went up to the room, and presently 
returned with a polite message. Professor De Waldo 
was engaged, but he would like to have the young 
gentleman leave the paper for him to examine, and 
call again in half an hour ; which George consented 
to do. 

He walked the street till the half-hour had ex- 
pired, and then returned to Master Felix, who in- 
formed him that the professor had gone out. 

George was somewhat disturbed by this announce- 
ment ; but Master Felix said coolly, — 

“ He did n’t have time to read your paper, but he 
said if you came again before he got back, he would 
send the money around to you this evening.” 

“T want the money before I leave,” said George, 
firmly. “ I ’ll go up to his room and wait.” 

“You can’t get in,” replied Master Felix, with a 
grin. “ He has locked the door and taken away the 
key.” 

“ Then I ’ll wait here.” 

“ You can, if you like ; but I ’m going to get my 
supper.” And. Master Felix sauntered away. 


MRS. LIBBY IS “ MUCH OBLEEGED.” 175 

George waited, growing more and more anxious as 
the time passed, and the professor did not appear. 
At length, tired and hungry, he determined to go 
home to his supper, and return for his money after- 
wards. 

“ I ’ll lay siege to that door,” he said to Jack, “ and 
I won’t leave it without taking one of three things, 
— the money, or the manuscript, or the professor’s 
life ! ” 

Though this was said laughingly, he was quite in 
earnest with regard to the first two articles named ; 
and he kept his word. 

Arrived at the house in Murray Street, he found 
the door closed, and the night-latch down. But our 
young poet from the rural districts had by this time 
learned the use of a door-bell ; and he put that 
knowledge and the muscles of his right arm into so 
vigorous use on this occasion, that he soon brought 
Master Felix to the door. 

The mesmeric subject was looking pale and wild, 
as if expecting some one whom he had come unwill- 
ingly to admit ; and the sight of George, flushed and 
resolute, did not seem to soothe his troubled mind. 

Almost before the visitor had time to ask for the 
professor, Master Felix pushed out a folded sheet of 
foolscap through the half-opened door. 

'‘He told me to tell you he don’t want it.” 

" Don’t want the hand-bill I have written for 
him ! ” cried George, astonished. 

“ He don’t like it,” said Master Felix, still holding 


176 


FAST FRIENDS. 


out the manuscript ; and he says he did n’t expect 
to pay for it unless it suited him.” 

“AVhere is he?” demanded George, pushing into 
the entry, as he seized the manuscript. 

I don’t know,” said the frightened Master Felix. 
“ He came home, and went off again.” 

George mounted the dimly lighted stairs, tried the 
professor’s door, and found it locked. Then, as there 
seemed to he nothing else he could do, he put the 
manuscript into his pocket, and went home. I am 
sorry to record of him that he ever in his life felt as 
if he would like to wreak mortal vengeance on a 
man ; but I fear that — of the three things aforesaid, 
having missed the first — he would have much pre- 
ferred the professor’s life to the manuscript. 

As he went up to his room, wondering what he 
should say to Jack, and what they would both say to 
Mrs. Libby, he heard voices in the attic ; and there 
were the two persons he was thinking of, having a 
private talk together in his absence. 

“ Here he is noAv !” said Jack, starting eagerly to 
meet him. 

“ I am very glad he has come,” said the feeble 
tones of Mrs. Libby ; “ for I don’t want nothing but 
what is right, and I hope it ’s as you say about the 
money, though the gentleman is waiting down stairs 
now to know whether he can have the room or not.” 

“ Have n’t got it ? ” exclaimed Jack, with dismay, 
at the sight of his friend’s face, which told the dismal 
story before his tongue could speak. 


MRS. LIBBY IS “MUCH OBLEEGED.” 177 

“ It ’s a perfect swindle. He don’t want the hand- 
bill, and he won’t pay for it.” 

“ Then it ’s all up with us ! ” 

“ How so ? ” said George, casting anxious looks at 
the landlady. 

“ If we can’t pay, we must give place to somebody 
who can,” replied Jack. 

“ I ’ve had three applications for the room this 
afternoon,” said Mrs. Libby; “and one of ’em is in 
the parlor now, waiting, with his three dollars in his 
pocket, — for it ’s three dollars to one person, four 
for two, and very cheap at that, — and I have my 
rent and butchers’ and bakers’ bills to pay, and how 
can I give lodgings and breakfases and dinners, with- 
out my boarders pays up ? ” 

“We’ll pay you, of course,” said George. “We 
are sure of some money next week. Besides, here 
are our trunks.” 

“ Your room-mate has told me all that, and I don’t 
doubt your good intentions, and I must say, two more 
quiet and well-behaved young persons I never had in 
my house, and it ’s nothing I have agin you, but 
boarders, somehow, never does have the money they 
promise, if they don’t have it when it ’s due, and I ’ve 
been made to suffer so many times when I ’ve let a 
bill run, and trunks is no great satisfaction, I ’ve 
found that out, to my sorrow, and I ’m worrited to 
death as it is, to make both ends meet ; and a hus- 
band that don’t do what a husband should, though I 
do say it ; and I assure you, young men, it goes to 

8* L 


178 


FAST FRIENDS. 


my heart to have to ask you to vacate, for if I had 
the money I would never turn the poorest wretch in 
the world out of doors ! ” 

And tears of distress actually ran down the good 
woman’s cheeks. 

“ She is right,” said J ack. “ Come on, George ! 
Pack your trunk. I ’ll have my things ready to 
move out in five minutes.” 

But where shall we go ? ” 

“No matter now. We shall have time enough to 
think about that by and by.” 

And Jack proceeded with cheerful alacrity to pack 
up, while George stood by, quite bewildered. 

“ I ’m sure I shall be ever so much obleeged to 
you,” said the landlady, wiping her eyes. “ And if 
you do git your money, and want to come back, and 
there is a vacant room in the house, there ’s nobody 
I ’d sooner see enter my doors and set at my table, 
and you know it ain’t my will, but my necessity.” 

And she went to close the bargain with the three 
dollars waiting in her parlor. 

George now having by degrees come to his senses, 
he began — though in a dazed and stupid way — to 
pack his trunk. 

“ Going to leave ? ” said a pleasant voice at the 
door. 

“We are,” replied Jack, coldly; for it was Mr. 
Manton who spoke. 

“ Too bad ! ” said that gentleman, politely. “ Any- 
thing I can do for you ? ” 


MRS. LIBBY IS “MUCH OBLEEGED.” 179 

“Yes! lend us four dollars !” cried George. “Or, 
at least, pay us the half-dollar you borrowed of us 
the other night. We ’re turned into the street, and 
have n’t a cent to pay for a night’s lodging.” 

“ Sorry I can’t oblige you. I shall have some 
money next week, but I ’m hard up just now. I ’ll 
see Mrs. Libby, though, and get her to trust you on 
my account.” 

“ Don’t trouble yourself ; you are too kind, — 
you’ve been too kind to us from the first!” said 
Jack, with 'bitter sarcasm, raising his voice, as Mr. 
Manton retired. 

The trunk and valise were soon packed, and taken 
down the stairs, up which they had been so hopefully 
carried the Saturday night before; then lugged out 
into the street, and set down upon the sidewalk. 

“Well! now what?” said Jack, wiping his fore- 
head. 

“ I don’t know ! ” replied George, with a long 
breath. “ It has all happened so quickly that it has 
quite taken my wits away. I must stop and think.” 

And the two houseless and penniless lads sat 
down on the trunk to rest, and talk over the situa- 
tion. 


180 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XXVII. 

A VISIT TO THE PAWNBROKER. 

“We might have pawned some of my things, and 
got money to pay another week in advance/' said 
George. “ Why did n’t yon speak of it ? ” 

Jack had not spoken of it, because they were 
George’s things, and not his own. But he said : — 
“ We can do better than that. I ’ve had my eye 
on two or three rooms to let, and I inquired the rent 
of one, only this afternoon, not knowing what might 
happen. It ’s only a dollar and a half a week ; and 
nothing was said about pay in advance.” 

“Just for the room?” said George. “But we 
must have something to eat!” 

“ Yes ; but don’t you see ? If we have a place to 
sleep, then we can regulate our diet according to our 
means. If we have only sixpence a day, we can buy 
a loaf of bread, and live on that. At all events, we 
sha’ n’t have to pay our board in advance ; and that ’s 
the great difficulty just now.” 

“ Y ou ’re right, J ack, — as you always are. Where ’s 
the room you inquired about ? ” 

“ Just around here, in Eeade Street, over the wine- 
store. Stay with the things, and I ’ll go and see if I 
can engage it, — if you say so.” 


A VISIT TO THE PAWNBROKER. 


181 


“ Of course I say so ! ” cried George, greatly re- 
lieved and encouraged. And lie added, gratefully, 
“ Jack ! what should I do without you ? ” 

“ If it had n’t been for me, you would n’t have had 
your pocket picked, in the first place,” said Jack, 
who could never forget that he was the first to spring 
to the support of the man who had robbed them. 

‘‘ But that was nothing you were to blame for,” 
George replied, as he always did to remarks of this 
nature ; for, since their quarrel, these fast friends, in 
discussing their good or evil fortune, generously vied 
with each other in disclaiming the credit fox it, or in 
assuming the blame. 

Jack was gone about fifteen minutes, and returned, 
out of breath with haste, but with a gay countenance. 

“The room was a dollar and a half for one, two 
dollars for two, but I beat ’em down to a dollar and 
seventy-five cents ; and we can move right in ! ” 

“ Anything said about pay in advance ? ” 

“ N’ot a word ! And I don’t believe there will be, 
when we take possession. Catch hold here I ” 

“ What a fellow you are ! ” laughed George, admir- 
ingly. “ 0, but you must let me carry the valise, 
with my end of the trunk ! ” 

“ Wait till my arms get tired, then you shall have 
a chance,” replied Jack. And away they went to 
their new lodgings in Keade Street. 

It was even a better room than that which they 
had just vacated, and it contained two chairs instead 
of one. 


182 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ This is what I call a good thing ! ” exclaimed 
George, looking about him, after they had fairly taken 
possession. This stand will do for my writing- 
table ; and here ’s a good place for it in the niche 
between the chimney and the window. Farewell, 
Mrs. Libby ! Fare thee well, and if forever, still for- 
ever fare thee well ; though you ’re very good and 
clever, we must leave you for a spell ! ” he cried gayly^ 
parodying his favorite, Byron. “ What are you think- 
ing of, Jack ? ” 

What an amusing fellow you are ! ” Jack replied, 
sitting astride a chair, leaning his arms on the back. , 
“ You don’t look much amused at my nonsense. I 
believe you ’re thinking about to-morrow ; Sunday, 
you know.” 

Jack nodded ; and, opening his mouth, tossed his 
finger at the cavity, with a droll look and gesture. 

“ Something to eat ? ” said George. “ I wish now 
I had saved Fitz Dingle’s shilling, which I paid out 
for writing-paper ; we might have worried through 
the day on that. But here are my books ; I can 
spare these better than anything else ; and we ’ll 
pawn one or two, for enough to live on till our ships 
come in.” And he opened his trunk. 

“ Try one first,” said Jack. “ Which shall it be ? ” 
The most valuable books for their purpose were 
the poetical works of Byron, Scott, and Burns, each 
complete in a large volume ; and both boys thought 
it should be one of these. 

Byron is the fellow ! ” said George ; but, after a 


A VISIT TO THE PAWNBROKER. 


183 


moment’s reflection, “ I don’t know, though ! I don’t 
see how I can spare him, he ’s so good to take up 
now and then.” And he began to read or recite 
favorite passages, as he turned the leaves. “No, 
I ’ll keep Byron, and let Burns pay a visit to the 
pawnbroker. But how good this is ! ” He had 
chanced upon “ Tam O’Shanter,” of which he read a 
few lines with great spirit, which, to Jack’s mind, 
more than made up for his bad pronunciation of the 
Scotch. 

So he laid Burns aside with Byron, and declared 
that Scott should be the martyr. But then, Scott ! 
so robust, so picturesque ! how could he sacrifice 
him ? The third precious volume was therefore 
placed with the other two; gtnd now the matter of 
choice was to be entirely reconsidered. 

“ Pshaw ! ” said George, impatiently. “ You choose 
for me. Here, I ’ll place the books in a row on the 
table, and blind your eyes, and lead you up to them, 
and let you touch one ; and that shall decide it.” 

So Jack, with a handkerchief over his eyes, stood 
before the row of books, and stretched forth his hand, 
while George held his breath with suspense. The 
lot fell upon Byron ; and in five minutes the noble 
poet was on his way to the nearest pawnbroker’s 
shop, in company with our two boys. 

They entered under the sign of the three gilt balls, 
and found themselves in a narrow shop, with a bare 
wall on one side, and a counter on the other, over 
which was stretched a coarse wire screen. The wall 


184 


FAST FRIENDS. 


on that side was lined to the top with shelves, divided 
off into large-sized pigeon-holes, which (as the boys 
could see through the wire screen) were stuffed full 
of all sorts of curious articles and odd-shaped bun- 
dles. At the end of the screen was a sort of sentry- 
box, with a hole in the back part, over the counter, 
where modest customers, one at a time, could transact 
their delicate business with the proprietor unobserved. 

There was a woman in the box at the time ; and as 
tlie boys awaited their turn, they could hear her low 
tones of entreaty, interrupted by sobs. 

This must be a dreadful business ! ” murmured 
George ; '' to live upon other people’s distress ! I ’d 
rather be a beast of prey, outright ; for then I should 
n’t be troubled with any conscience in the matter.” 

“ These men are not troubled with much,” Jack 
replied. Hear how calm and business-like his tones 
are ! ” 

‘‘ Jack,” said George, with a shudder, " do you 
think we shall have to pay many visits to the sign 
of the three golden balls ? ” 

“ It is n’t likely ; though when people begin to 
come here,” said Jack, “ I suppose it ’s a good deal 
like rolling down hill, — the farther you go, the 
faster, and the harder to stop. But come ! it ’s our 
turn now.” 

The woman, draped all in black, passed them 
quickly and silently as a ghost, except that a low 
sob, stifled by her close veil, was heard as she went 
out. 





Thb Pawnbroker’s Shop 








A VISIT TO THE PAWNBROKER. 


185 


“ A poor widow, pawning something dear to her, 
perhaps her dead husband’s watch, or her wedding- 
ring,” whispered George, his own voice choking with 
emotion, as they took her place in the box. 

A shrivelled little old man, with a large nose, and 
large black eyes, which looked strangely black and 
bright under his white hair and white eyebrows, 
received the book, glanced at it sharply as he turned 
the leaves, and, laying it back on the counter with a 
discontented air, said briefly, Two shillings.” 

Two shillings ! ” echoed George, crowding into 
the box behind his friend. “Why, it cost two dol- 
lars!” 

“ Two shillings is all I can adwance on dat,” said 
the man, with a strong foreign accent, and in the 
same low, firm, business-like tones which had an- 
swered the woman’s entreaties. “ It will pring no 
more as dat, if sold at auction.” 

“Sold at auction!” again echoed George. “We 
shall redeem it in a few days.” 

“ I do not know dat. I take no reesk. Two shil- 
lings,” was the cold, dry response. 

Jack thereupon soothed his indignant friend by 
saying that they could live on that sum for a day or 
two ; and that the less money they borrowed, the less 
interest they would have to pay when they should 
come to redeem the article pledged. After some 
further consultation, the book was left in exchange 
for a silver quarter of a dollar (two York shillings), 
and a pawnbrowker’s ticket, duly numbered ; and the 


186 


FAST FRIENDS. 


boys gave place to a shabby old man, who entered 
the box with a rolled-up bedquilt in his arms. 

On their way home they stopped at a grocery, and 
invested eighteen cents of their money in a small 
loaf of bread, a pound of crackers, and a piece of 
cheese. When they finally reached their room, they 
were in the best of spirits. The very novelty of this 
way of life had an attraction for them ; and they felt 
now as if they could meet, with heroic cheerfulness, 
any sort of hardship or privation, as long as they 
remained together. 

The next day they breakfasted, dined, and supped 
off their humble fare, and found it sweet. They were 
a little averse, however, to letting their neighbors in 
the house know how they were obliged to economize 
their means ; and so, at the regular hours for meals, 
they went out and took long walks, returning after a 
lapse of time which might have allowed of a very 
sumptuous repast at a public table or the house of a 
friend. Both boys naturally despised pretence, and 
they made a good deal of fun of this weakness in 
themselves ; George proposing, with humorous grav- 
ity, that they should add a finishing stroke to the 
innocent little humbug, by picking their teeth, after 
dinner, on the steps of the Astor House. 


THE END OF AN AIR-CASTLE. 


187 


CHAPTER XXVIIL 

THE END OF AN AIR-CASTLE. 

The next day was Monday; and in the evening 
Jack was to make his first appearance before a New 
York audience, at Bowery Hall. He was to have 
but little to say or sing; but he was expected to 
make a lively sensation by coming out as Miss Dinahs 
a colored young lady, and dancing* first alone, and 
afterwards with Goffer ; a tip-top idea, sure to take 
with an appreciative public,” in the words of the 
sagacious Eitz Dingle. 

The novelty of the new enterprise, and the pros- 
pect of earning some money, inspired Jack ; and he 
set off, full of hope, accompanied by his friend, to 
attend the forenoon rehearsal. 

George had that morning finished a little dialogue, 
in which Jack, as a young lady, and Goffer, as a beau 
(both colored, of course), were to have the principal 
parts, and perform some choice dances ; he was now 
to submit his work to the judgment of Eitz Dingle, 
and, as he fondly hoped, receive a small advance of 
money for it. 

The friends reached Bowery Hall at the usual 
hour, and were surprised to find the door closed, and 
several of their “ artist ” friends waiting for it te 


188 


FAST FRIENDS. 


open. Some of them appeared much excited; and 
when Jack asked what was the matter, Bones, with 
a grimly significant look, pointed at the play-bill 
posted beside the main entrance. It was the old 
bill, advertising the last week’s performance, instead 
of a new bill, in which Jack’s appearance as Miss 
Dinah should have been announced. 

J ack turned pale ; for, although he had already, 
impelled by a natural curiosity, looked for this inter- 
esting announcement, and noticed that the Bowery 
Hall posters had not been changed, the circumstance 
did not, until this moment, strike him as anything 
ominous of evil. But now, interpreted by the dis- 
mal irony of Bones’s smile, it became alarming. 

“ Where ’s Fitz Dingle ? ” 

“ That ’s the question ! ” said Bones, curtly ; and he 
commenced walking to and fro in the street, with his 
head down, and those wonderful hands of his thrust 
deep into his pockets. 

“ Is he sick ? ” George asked, appealing to Dandy 
Jim. 

“ Who ? Lucius Fitz Dingle ? Not very ! ” 

“ Then what is the matter ? ” 

Broke, I reckon,” said Dandy Jim, with a reck- 
less laugh. “ Fitz Dingle is a man of genius, of vast 
resources, — at least, in his own opinion ; and he has 
certainly had some of the best artists in his troupe, 
in the whole country ; no lack of patronage on the 
part of the public, either ; but here you see the re- 
sult. Bad management.” 


THE END OF AN AIR-CASTLE. 


189 


Worse than that,” said the dignified Mr. Jones, 
coming up. “ Gambling ! Fitz Dingle has made two 
or three small fortunes in the show business, and lost 
’em at roulette and faro. Our pay for the past week 
is due every Monday morning, when we come to re- 
hearsal ; he owes every man in the troupe a week’s 
wages, and all his other bills are in arrears. So I 
think he has cut stick. Goffer and one or two others 
have, gone to find him ; but they won’t succeed.” 

An aguish feeling of despair came over George, 
as he listened to this explanation ; and he cast anx- 
ious glances at Jack, who was looking pale but calm. 

“ It tlirows every man of us out of employment, if 
he don’t appear and pay up,” muttered Bones, as he 
strode past. “ There comes Goffer ! ” 

It was indeed the long-limbed dancer, who ap- 
peared without Fitz Dingle, and with an open letter 
in his hand. He also brought a key in his pocket, 
with which he let the crowd into the hall. Then he 
showed the letter. 

It was from the great Lucius, to the members of 
his troupe. In it he announced the painful necessity 
of his temporary withdrawal from public notice, and 
concluded in this eloquent strain, which Goffer read 
aloud with groans, and which was heard with gnash^r 
ings of teeth : — 

“ Yet think not that I Go without hope ; for wherever 
fate may lead me, whether on the Bounding Billow or 
the Desert Sands, or in the flowery pastures of a New 
Prosperity, I shall be actuated by a noble ambition to 


190 


FAST FRIENDS. 


meet you again, at No Distant Date, when all arrears 
will be Settled, and a new Troupe Organized, on a scale 
of Unparalleled elegance and magnificence, which shall 
eclipse the Glory of all Former Efforts, and restore the 
Fame and Fortunes of — Yours till Death, 

“ L. Fitz Dingle.” 

“I can fancy how his bad eye shut and peeled 
open when he wrote that ! ” said Dandy Jim, while 
his companions indulged in remarks far more dam- 
aging to the late proprietor’s eyes and reputation. 

Each seemed to think only of his own private loss 
and disappointment ; and it must be confessed that 
George and Jack took about as selfish views of the 
matter as any of the rest. It did not seem to them 
that the Bowery Hall bankruptcy could prove half 
so crushing to anybody else’s hopes and fortunes as 
to their own ; yet to their credit it must be said that 
each thought first of the other’s disappointment, and 
that it was in trying to cheer each other that they 
cheered themselves. 

“ Never mind for me ! ” cried Jack, bravely, as 
they walked away from the hall. This shows me 
that I am not to get a living with my heels, as a col- 
ored minstrel. If I had fairly begun, and succeeded, 
I might, perhaps, have never been able to quit the 
business ; and, from what I know of it, I say deliver 
me from following such a profession ! Though I 
should have liked to dance Miss Dinah this evening, 
just to see how it would seem,” 

“ You are made for something better, — I knew it 


THE END OF AN AIR-CASTLE. 191 

all the while,” said George. And something better 
will come now, — it must come, you know ! ” 

‘‘And you can do better than writing those non- 
sensical dialogues, George ! They ’re not worthy of 
your genius. Go in now for the magazines and first- 
class papers ; that ’s what I see for you. Meanwhile, 
I’ll look for something else. We’ve already found 
how little we can live on, and be jolly.” 

“ Byron ’s about gone,” said George, ruefully, taking 
two cents from his pocket “ There ’s all that ’s left 
of him. We shall have to eat Scott for dinner ; and 
I feel as if I should like a pretty good meal.” 

“Come on!” cried Jack, “ let’s be extravagant for 
once.” 

George consented. Their extravagance consisted 
in devouring the poetical works of the great Sir Wal- 
ter at a single meal; taking them in the shape of 
two smoking dishes of veal-pie, at a popular eating- 
house. Their appetites were excellent, and they grew 
quite hilarious over the repast, laughing defiance at 
fortune. George even showed a tendency to break 
forth in singing as they left the table, but he checked 
himself, laying his hand on his stomach, and saying 
that it was the “ Lay of the Last Minstrel ” which 
inspired him. 

To atone for this extravagance, the boys ate no 
supper that night. 

The next day tliey began upon Burns ; but they 
made him go further, by selling him outright at a 
second-hand book-stall, for half a dollar. 


192 


FAST FRIENDS. 


They lived upon Burns a little over two days. 
Then some old school-books of George’s, a very an- 
cient edition of Virgil, with a literal translation, the 
“Vicar of Wakefield,” and one or two of Cooper’s 
novels, found their way to the book-stalls, and helped 
our heroes to a scanty subsistence. 

To pay their rent they were obliged to begin upon 
their clothes. 

As they had had none washed since leaving home, 
their under garments were hardly in a fit condition 
to appear before the sharp-eyed old pawnbroker; 
and Jack insisted on sacrificing first an extra coat 
which he had brought with him. A pair of trousers 
belonging to George soon followed that ; then went 
Jack’s knife, George’s razor (he was beginning to 
shave), and, alas ! his flute. This had cost three 
dollars and a half, and it produced, at the pawn- 
broker’s, a loan of seventy cents. 

Meanwhile, Jack divided his time between seeking 
employment, doing such little jobs as came in his 
way, for any paltry sums he could get, and running 
to the pawnbroker’s and baker’s. For the original 
business which had brought him to town he had less 
and less time and heart. All the fun to be got out 
of this course of life had soon worn off, and, though 
the lads kept their spirits up as well as they could, 
anxiety and privation were beginning to have their 
effect upon both body and mind. 

George all this time stayed at home, while Jack 
did their errands; toiling at his little writing-table 


THE END OF AN AIR-CASTLE. 


193 


in the niche, finishing ''Jacob Price, the Pioneer,” 
for Mr. Upton (who liked the first chapters) ; and, at 
Jack’s suggestion, writing such short articles as he 
hoped to sell for cash to one or two weekly papers. 

" Why don’t you try the dailies ? ” said Jack, one 
evening, after bringing home to him two rejected 
manuscripts. 

" 0, I can’t write for the dailies ! ” said George, 
despondently ; and if they had not been sitting in 
the dark, to save the expense of candles, Jack might 
have seen how very worn and haggard his friend’s 
face looked. 

" Yes, you can. I ’ll give you a subject. Take 
that ship-load of Dutch emigrants we saw landing 
the first Sunday we were in town. Describe the 
strange appearance of the passengers, their wooden 
shoes, the women in their short petticoats, and the 
men in their bags of trousers. Then draw on your 
fancy a little, — the homes and friends they have 
left behind, the long sea-voyage, the new land they ’ve 
come to, the home they ’ll find in the West : though 
they look strange to us, we look quite as strange to 
them ; this is a great country ; — and all that sort of 
thing. You know how to do it ! ” cried Jack, en- 
couragingly. 

George’s mind kindled at these suggestions, and he 
would have sat up till midnight writing the article, 
if they had not been out of candles. As it was, he 
lay awake long after they went to bed, thinking what 
he would write, and rose at daybreak the next morn- 


194 


FAST FRIENDS. 


ing to begin A Scene at the Wharves,” Jack having 
agreed to take the sketch, as soon as completed, to 
an editor with whom he had become slightly ac- 
quainted, in examining the files of one of the old 
daily newspapers. 


THE PROFESSOR’S HAND-BILL. 


195 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE professor’s HAND-BILL. 

Meanwhile George had got two more short sketches 
accepted by “ Upton’s Magazine,” and obtained a 
small advance of money on them. But, frugally as 
they were living, this was soon gone ; and, while wait- 
ing to hear from A Scene at the Wharves ” (which 
it took the editor several days to examine), the boys 
were reduced to what they would have believed the 
last extremity, if they had not, in their ignorance, 
thought they had reached that point two or three 
times before. Xow there seemed to be no end to 
what they might have to endure. 

It was one Saturday afternoon, when, in the early 
twilight, the boys sat in their room and talked. 

I ’ve at last written to Vinnie for her money,” 
said George. “ There ’s the letter ; I have n’t sent it 
yet. I ’ve put off asking her for it as long as I could; 
but it ’s no use. I ’m getting sick.” 

“ George,” said Jack, in a low, anxious voice, you 
have n’t seemed well lately.” 

“I’m worn out — mind and body,” George con- 
fessed. “ I thought I could finish " Jacob Price ’ to- 
day; but the thing spins out fearfully; and, really, 
I had n’t the strength to write. I ’ll rest to-morrow. 


196 


FAST FRIENDS. 


and on Monday take a fresh start. Mr. Upton ought 
to advance me twenty dollars on ^ Jacob.’ I wish 
there was any way to avoid sending that letter to 
Vinnie ! Think of my taking money of her !” And 
George, in his weak state, actually shed tears. 

“You needn’t send it,” replied Jack, cheerily. 
“ I ’ll write to Mr. Chatford ; he will send me some- 
thing, I know, — enough for our present needs, and 
to pay my passage home.” 

George knew something of the humiliation it would 
he to the proud and headstrong Jack to write such a 
letter; but his own trouble now made him almost 
forget his friend’s. 

“ Jack, I can’t bear to have you leave me ! Hard 
as this trial has been, I have felt almost thankful for 
it, because it has brought us so near together, and 
your friendship has been so precious to me. Why, 
when you are away, you don’t know how I anticipate 
your coming home, or how much happiness just your 
sitting down in the room brings to me in my worst 
troubles ! ” 

Jack tried to speak, in answer to this touching 
confession, but something very much like a sob 
checked his voice, and, for a moment, he winked 
hard, and silently passed his sleeve across his eyes. 

“ George,” said he, after a while, in tones thick with 
the feeling he was trying to control, “ I won’t leave 
you till I see you fairly on your legs, — I promise 
you that. We’ll make a raid on ‘Jacob Price’ next 
week ; and I shall hear from ‘ A Scene on the 


THE PROFESSOR’S HAND-BILL. 


197 


Wharves ’ on Monday. But you must n’t work so 
hard, whatever happens.” 

“ I find that I must n’t,” replied George, with a 
weary sigh. I shall take things easier after this.” 

Yes,” added Jack, “ and I think we can economize 
a little more.” 

“ How is that possible, unless we learn to live 
without eating altogether ? ” 

“ Hot in the matter of diet ; we have been — that is 
to say, you, George, have been — rather too severely 
starved already. The brain -work you do requires a 
nice, nourishing diet, which you must have, if it can 
be got. But a dollar and seventy-five cents a week 
for our room ! that is really extravagant, just now. 
We ought to get a lodging for half that.” 

" Do you suppose we shall be pushed for our rent 
to-night ? ” asked George. 

" If we are,” laughed his friend, " there ’s only one 
thing to be done. It ’s our last resort.” 

“What’s that?” 

“ Why, as we have nothing else to pawn but the 
clothes on our backs, you shall go to bed, — pretend- 
ing to be sick, you know, — while I put on your 
clothes, and take my own to the pawnbroker’s. 
Don’t you think you could do your writing in bed ? ” 

“ Perhaps ; or sitting up with the bedclothes 
wrapped about me, and the door locked.” 

“Then, when you get tired of the confinement,” 
Jack continued, “ I can be sick, and you can put on 
the clothes and go out. I think we could make one 


198 


FAST FRIENDS. 


suit do for both of us ; don’t you ? We ’ll keep yours, 
because it ’s a sort of medium fit for both of us, while 
you could n’t wear mine at all.” And, as if this 
proposition were made more than half in earnest, he 
began to empty his pockets. 

What ’s that paper ? ” George asked, as his friend 
stopped to read something. 

Jack burst into a laugh, as he stood up by the 
window, in order to get a good light on the paper. 

“ It ’s an advertisement, which a little ragged boy 
stuffed into my hand as I was coming up Broadway 
a day or two ago. I did n’t look at it ; I had forgot- 
ten all about it.” 

And Jack began to read aloud : — 

EXTEAOEDINAEY DEVELOPMENTS! 

A NEW SCIENCE! 

WONDERS OF BIOLOGY AND MESMERISM ! ! 


gEy\NCEg WITH PROFEggOR DE WALDO 

AND THE CELEBRATED MASTER FELIX 1 ! I 


THE MOST ASTONISHING DISCOVERIES OF THE AGE!! 


Professor De Waldo has the honor to announce that, having 
recently returned from Europe, where he has been for some time 
pursuing his Biological studies, and making Startling Discoveries 
in the New Science — 


THE PROFESSOR’S HAND-BILL. 


199 


“ Wliy, tliat ’s my hand-bill ! the very words I 
wrote for him ! ” cried George, springing to his feet. 
“ Where ’s the manuscript ? You ’ll see ! ” 

“ Word for word ! ” exclaimed Jack, when the man- 
uscript was found, and compared with the printed 
hand-bill. “What a rascal your Professor De Waldo 
must he ! ” 

“ The meanest sort of swindler ! ” George declared, 
excitedly. “ He took my manuscript, pretending to 
examine it ; and then, when I went home to supper, 
believing he had gone out, he was in reality copying 
it. Then think of that despicable Master Felix, 
thrusting it into my face when I went back, and tell- 
ing me the professor did n’t want it ! ” 

“ I say, George ! ” replied Jack, “ let ’s make trouble 
for this Professor De Waldo ! I ’ll go right around 
to his place with you now, and help you get your 
money. Let him know he has a couple of desperate 
fellows to deal with, and that the best thing for him 
to do is to pay up.” 

“ 0 J ack ! I wish I had your strength and your 
pluck! But, really, I am too sick to-night.” 

“ Then I ’ll go alone. Here ! give me the manu- 
script ! I ’ll put that and the printed hand-bill into 
your professor’s face, and come to some sort of a set- 
tlement with him. Take care of yourself till I come 
back. If you are called on for the rent, say I have 
gone for the money.” 

And Jack, full of wrath and resolution, set off to 
pay Professor De Waldo a visit. 


200 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XXX. 

A MUTUAL SURPRISE. 

It so chanced that, while the hoys were holding 
this conversation, the Professor of Biological Science 
was thinking of supper ; and that he went out, leav- 
ing the room in Murray Street in charge of Master 
Felix, about the time Jack was taking rapid steps 
down his lodging-house stairs. 

De Waldo’s last words to his wonderful pupil were 
a command not to leave the house for a moment dur- 
ing his absence, but to remain and wait for customers, 
and keep them until his return. The boy was per- 
mitted, however, to go down stairs and stand in the 
street door; where he had scarcely watched De Waldo 
out of sight, when he discovered that his blow-pipe 
was out of ammunition. It was but a few rods to 
the usual source of supply; and Master Felix, making 
sure that no customer was at that moment coming to 
the house, started to run up the street. 

After running a block or two, he began to walk. 
Close by was a large grocery, by the open door of 
which, among other objects for sale, was an open box 
of peas. Looking straight before him, like a young 
man bent on important business in a distant quarter 
of the city, the young gentleman passed the box, and. 


A MUTUAL SURPRISE. 


201 


without turning liis head, or making a motion of his 
body, dashed in his open hand, and brought it out 
clinched. 

He was walking on, with an innocent air, as if un- 
conscious of anything in the world but the urgent 
business that absorbed him, when a man slipped out 
of the door, darted along the sidewalk, and seized the 
swinging arm, with the guilty hand still clutching 
the stolen peas. 

The peas were scattered over the pavement in an 
instant, and Master Felix made a violent struggle to 
free himself, but the strength of his captor was too 
much for him. Finding himself fairly caught, he 
changed his tactics. 

“ Come ! what do you want of me ? What have I 
done ? ” he exclaimed, with the air of an injured 
angel. 

“Just come with me ; and as soon as I get a police- 
man, you T1 find out.” 

“ Just had a dozen peas in my hand ! I did n’t 
know I had ’em, I ’m so absent-minded ! Ask the 
professor ! ” 

“ You ’re absent-minded every tim.e you pass our 
place,” replied the man. “ I ’ve watched you. You 
go by two or three times a day, and put your hand 
into something every time. I don’t believe in that 
kind of absence of mind!” 

“I’m a mesmeric subject,” pleaded Master Felix. 
“ Take me to the professor, — he ’ll tell you all about 
it. I don’t know half the time what I do.” 


202 


FAST FRIENDS, 



‘‘ JUST COME WITH ME ! ” 


“I’ll teach you to know, when you pass our 
place ! ” And poor Master Felix, in spite of his 
wailing and entreating, was dragged into the store. 

Thus it happened that when Jack reached the pro- 
fessor’s room, he found nobody to guard it. The 
street door being open, he mounted the stairs; and, 


A MUTUAL SURPRISE. 


203 


having knocked at the door of the '' saloon ” in the 
rear, up one flight (according to the directions in 
the hand-bill), and got no response, he opened, and 
entered. 

A dismal lamp was burning on a desk in the 
farthest corner, by the dim light of which the cham- 
ber looked so little like a saloon ” that Jack at first 
thought he had got into the wrong place. But see- 
ing a pile of the professor’s hand-bills lying beside 
the lamp, and more scattered on a table in the centre 
of the room, he concluded that the “ saloon ” was a 
part of the humbug, and sat down on a sofa beside 
the door, to wait. 

Somebody must be coming soon, or the place 
would n’t be left in this way,” thought he. And, be- 
ing somewhat fatigued, he stretched himself at length, 
in order to be rested and strong for action by the 
time the professor arrived. 

Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes elapsed. The lamp 
burned more and more dimly, and seemed ready to 
go out. Jack would have grown impatient, if he 
had n’t been so tired ; as it was, he had almost fallen 
asleep, when a step on the landing and a hand on 
the door aroused him, and he started up just as a 
man entered the room. 

That you, my boy ? Almost in the dark ! ” cried 
a voice, which sounded strangely familiar to Jack’s 
ear. You did n’t fill the lamp to-day ! What did 
I tell you, if you forgot it agin ? ” And a rapid hand 
made a plunge at Jack’s hair. 


204 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Jack dodged, and parried the thrust with his arm. 
He did not move from the sofa, but, in his astonish- 
ment, sat crouched at the end of it, while the man 
passed on. 

“ I ’ll excuse you this once ; you ’ve done so won- 
derful to-day. Don’t you see how complete it works ? 
I put you into the magnetic state for a customer, and 
we git his half a dollar, anyway. Then, if he ’s sick, 
you prescribe my medicine, and we git a dollar more. 
We ’re in clover. This is better ’n the ’Lectrical 
’Lixir. I told ye, when that bust up, jest how it 
would be. Think of your developin’ into a mesmeric 
subject ; the celebrated Master Felix ! ha, ha ! Here ’s 
your supper, — a nice leg of cold chicken, and some 
brown bread I slipped off the plate at the eatin’- 
house, and brought away in my pocket-handkerchief. 
Thought I might as well save it ; you see, I remem- 
bered my dear boy ! ” 

The professor spread the handkerchief open on the 
table, and turned to prick up the wick of the expiring 
lamp. 

“ The laws of biological science is so curi’s ! ” he 
rattled on, while Jack never stirred from his corner. 
“ I put you into the state, — and everybody can see ’t 
you ’re in a abnormal condition, — and you show, by 
tellin’ things, that you ’re a kind of clairvoyant ; and 
yet I can make ye see and say anything I please. I 
tried it to-day when the old woman w^as here, that 
wanted to find out, through you, who stole her silver 
comb. You described the young woman that had 


A MUTUAL SURPRISE. 


205 


her comb, though she could n’t decide what young 
woman it was; then I willed you to tell her she 
would die of a dropsy within a year, if she did n’t 
take some medicine. She bought my medicine, of 
course. ’T was a beautiful experiment. Ain’t this 
better ’n makin’ a slave of yourself on a farm, Master 
Felix ? But why don’t you eat your supper ? ” 

Jack, now quite recovered from his first surprise, 
took a chair at the table, and rested his arms upon 
the leaf, while he watched the professor. He was 
hungry enough to act out the part of Master Felix 
admirably, by eating the supper, had it not been for 
a certain foolish prejudice against the De Waldo 
handkerchief 

The professor, finding that the lamp burned pretty 
well after the wick was pricked up, placed it on the 
table, and, seating himself opposite Jack, took from 
his pocket a loose handful of bank-notes, w^hich he 
began to spread out before him. 

Ah, look at that pile ! ” said he, merrily. “ Ain’t 
that good for sore eyes, my boy ? But why don’t 
you — ” 

At this moment, the boy’s strange attitude appear- 
ing to attract his attention, he glanced across the 
table. Their eyes met, in the full light of the lamp. 
The professor shrank back. 

« Y-y-you ! ” he gasped out. “ J-Jack Hazard ! ” 
Good-natered John Wilkins!” said Jack, with- 
out moving from his place, still resting his arms on 
the table, while he looked steadily at the professor. 


206 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XXXI. 

JACK AND THE PROFESSOR. 

^'Ha! ha! my young friend! I never was so 
taken ! ” said the professor, rallying quickly, and as- 
suming an air of gayety. “ I thought ’t was my dear 
hoy. Where is he ? How come you here ? ” 

I called on business,” replied Jack, quietly. 

How’s Phineas?” 

“ You mean — ha — Master Felix ; for he ’s Master 
Felix now, the celebrated clairvoyant. He ’s cheer- 
ful ; he ’s lovely,” said the professor, airily. “ Was n’t 
he here when you come in ? ” 

“ There was nobody here ; so I sat down to wait.” 
Aha ! That ’s very strange. Where can the 
rogue have gone? And — my dear friend!” said 
the professor, nervously, — for he appeared strangely 
to suspect the friendliness of Jack’s intentions, — “to 
what do I owe the honor of this visit ? It ’s so long 
since I had the pleasure ! ” 

“ As long ago as when you were in the ’Lectrical 
’Lixir business, and Phin was the son of poor but 
honest parents, who blew your trumpet for you, after 
you had cured him of a whole catalogue of diseases ! ” 
said Jack, sarcastically. “ I remember that good-na~ 
tered little interview on the circus ground ! ” 


JACK AND THE PROFESSOR. 


207 


"You played a shrewd game, I must confess!” 
said the other, with a forced^, laugh. “ And I love a 
shrewd game, though I be the victim, as I’ve often 
had occasion to observe. You was shrewd, and I 
don’t resent it.” 

"And how have you and Phin — excuse me, I 
mean Master Felix — been flourishing since then ?” 
Jack inquired. ^ 

" On the hull, finely ! We ’ve had our ups and 
downs ; but variety is the spice of life, you know ; 
and all’s well that ends well; and here we be at 
last, on the top wave of fortune,” added the professor, 
pricking at the wick of the lamp. 

“ You ’ve an eloquent hand-bill here,” said Jack. 

" You ’ve read it ? And admired it, I hope ! Ain’t 
it tremenjuous ? Takes with our sort of customers 
wonderful ! ” 

"You must have had help in writing it.” 

"Well, to be honest, I had ; for I don’t pretend to 
hold the pen of a ready writer myself. I furnished 
the p’ints, and employed one of the most brilliant 
young men of genius about town to write ’em out ; 
a very noted young author.” 

" Ah ! ” said Jack. " If he is very noted, perhaps 
I have heard of him.” 

"Very likely. Ah — let me see — I can’t recall 
his name. Very young; but 0, what talent!” 

"You must liave to pay such talent very liber- 
ally.” 

" Liberally 1 Munificently ! I pay everybody mu- 


208 


FAST FRIENDS. 


nificently now. AVhy, sir, the writing of that hand- 
bill cost me a round twenty dollars.” 

“Professor De Waldo, or Dr. Lamont, or Dr. Doy- 
ley, or good-natered John Wilkins, — in short George 
Eeddington,” said Jack, with a determined look, 
“ you and I know each other pretty well, and there ’s 
no use of your trying your little humbug with me. 
I think you ’ll remember the name of your talented 
young author in a minute. Here ’s the original 
copy of your hand-bill, with his name written up 
there in the corner. It was a shrewd game you 
played with him ; but I don’t so much admire your 
kind of shrewdness. I ’m his friend, and I Ve 
come to collect, not the twenty dollars you say you 
paid him, but the five dollars you promised and 
did n’t pay.” 

The professor looked at the manuscript, and smiled 
a very skinny smile. 

“Well, this is a double surprise! To think you 
should be the friend of that young man ! ” he said, 
politely returning the paper. 

“Will you pay me?” said Jack. 

“I am your humble servant,” replied De Waldo, 
with mock courtesy ; “ but when you talk of pay, I 
must beg respectfully to be excused. Payin’ ain’t in 
my line of business.” 

“Haven’t you the least atom of honor or shame 
about you?” cried Jack. “I think I never heard 
of so mean a trick. You hired my friend to write 
the hand-bill, copied it secretly, and then gave it 


JACK AND THE PROFESSOR. 


209 


back to him, with the pretence that it did n’t suit 
you ! I ’ve heard that thieves and pickpockets have 
a little honor ; if so, you are not fit for their com- 
pany.” 

The professor seemed to feel these earnest home- 
thrusts ; for after a moment’s pause, during which 
"he hastily pricked up the lamp-wick once more, he 
replied : — 

“ Come, now ! be good-natered 1 le’ ’s both be good- 
natered, and I ’ll tell ye the honest truth. I had n’t 
the cash when your friend brought in the hand-bill, 
or I should n’t have took the trouble to shave him 
so close.” 

I accept the apology,” said Jack, " provided 
you ’ll make it good by paying him, now that you 
have the cash. No pretence of poverty now, George 
Eeddington! You had a handful of money before 
you, just as you noticed me here in Finn’s place. 
Then you snatched it up. It ’s there in your pocket 
now.” 

"'My young friend,” said the professor, laying his 
hand on the said pocket, and bowing, — for he had 
again risen to his feet, — it ’s a matter of principle 
with me never to pay an old debt.” 

Jack laughed scornfully. A quack — a humbug 
— like you, to talk of principle ! ” 

“Is it possible,” grinned De Waldo, “that you 
don’t believe in our new science?” 

“Whether I do or not, I don’t believe in such 
professors of it as you. I do believe there ’s some- 

N 


210 


FAST FEIENDS. 


thing in mesmerism and clairvoyance; — a great 
deal ; and I think it is too bad that as soon as any 
such new thing is talked of, you sharpers and igno- 
ramuses should rush to take it up, and make it a 
nuisance, and disgust honest-minded people with it 
before they have a chance to know anything else 
about it. That ’s my opinion of you and your sci- 
ence.” 

^‘1 must say,” replied De Waldo, still grinning, 
but with sparkling malice, your remarks is gittin' 
ruther personal ” ^ 

And as for your paying old debts,” Jack went on, 
^'you paid one to me once, and you did seem to re- 
gard it as a sad mistake at the time.” 

“ Yes ! and for that very thing I owe you no good- 
will!” cried De Waldo, shaking his fist at Jack, who 
still quietly kept his seat. “Your friend has sent 
the wrong man to collect his bills ; and now I tell 
you to clear out of this room, or you ’ll git kicked 
out!” 

“Lay your hands on me,” said Jack, “and some- 
thing worse will happen to you than has happened 
to your son Phineas already.” 

“ You know what — what has happened to him ? ” 
said the professor, again changing his manners, and 
looking decidedly anxious. 

“ Pay me the five dollars I ’ve come for, and I ’ll 
tell you what has happened to him. If you don’t 
pay me, I ’ll stay here and be your Master Felix in 
^ way you won’t like. I ’m out of business just now, 


JACK AND THE PROFESSOR. 


211 


and I ’ll just give my time to exposing your misera- 
ble humbug to every customer who comes to your 
door. Though there ’ll be no need of my troubling 
myself^ unless you get your Master Felix back 
again.” 

Now, look here ! ” said the professor, more and 
more disturbed. “ Be reasonable ; and le’ ’s come to 
an understandin’. What has happened to my boy?” 

Will you give me five dollars ? ” 

“ How do I know you ’ve a right to collect the 
money ? ” 

There ’s the manuscript ; that shows you plainly 
enough, if you really care anything for the right.” 

Settle for two dollars, and tell me where my boy 
is, and it ’s a bargain.” 

“ Five dollars ! ” insisted Jack. 

^'But how do I know you re’lly know anything 
about him ? ” 

“ George Keddington, you Ve lied to me about as 
often as you ever spoke to me, but you know I 
never lied to you. Now, I say, something has hap- 
pened to Phin, — something bad enough, too, — and 
I promise to tell you what it is, if you pay me; 
otherwise, I get my pay in a way that will be a great 
deal worse for you.” 

“Jack,” replied the professor, more seriously than 
he had yet spoken, “ I don’t like you, that ’s a fact ; 
but I trust you. Take three dollars, and here ’s your 
money.” 

Jack saw a chance of getting his five dollars, if he 


212 


FAST FRIENDS. 



‘'take three dollars, and here ’s tour money.” 


insisted upon it ; but he chose to accept the smaller 
sum, for good reasons, — partly because he knew that 
George would have been glad to get so much, and 
would have thought himself well paid ; but chiefly 
because he feared lest, if the professor held out a few 
minutes longer, something might occur to break off 


JACK AND THE PROFESSOR. 


213 


the negotiation. In short, he believed Phin might at 
any moment return. 

“Well,” said he, pocketing the three dollars with 
a stern smile of satisfaction, “ you ’ve given me the 
credit of being truthful ; and now I ’ll tell you what 
I know of Phin. As I was coming by a grocery- 
store on this street, I saw a man dragging a boy into 
the door, for stealing something out of the open boxes 
or barrels outside. I saw only the boy’s back, and 
I did n’t recognize him ; but now, the more I think 
of it the surer I am that boy was Phineas, though 
he has grown large and coarse. The man was threat- 
ening to give him over to the police.” 

“ How was he dressed ? ” 

“ He had on a brown coat and a sort of Scotch cap.” 

“ That ’s him ! ” exclaimed the professor, with a 
gleam of excitement in his lank face. “ He was 
after them peas, to blow in his confounded blow-pipe. 
I wish I had smashed it, as I threatened, long ago ! 
I can’t spare him now, or I ’d let him go, — and 
good enough for him, for gittin’ into such a 
scrape ! ” 

Jack went out with the professor, and accompa- 
nied him to the grocery where Phin had been cap- 
tured. He could not help feeling an interest in his 
old companion, and a desire to meet him again. But 
the luckless youth had already been given over to 
the police ; and Jack was too eager to run home with 
his money, to think of following Phin’s fortunes fur- 
ther that night. 


214 


FAST FKIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XXXII. 

AN UNFORESEEN CALAMITY. 

He found George in bed, almost too ill to care for 
the money, or to listen to his story. 

Jack was alarmed. He sat on the bed, in the 
comfortless room, lighted only by a dim reflection 
from the street, and felt his 'friend’s hot brow and 
palm; and asked, imploringly, to know ; wliat he 
could do for him. 

'Tor we’ve a pile of money now, you know, and 
you can have whatever you like ! ” 

" I ’ve been thinking — if I could have just a taste 
of lemonade — you are so good ! ” faltered poor 
George, in a feeble voice. 

"Wait five minutes!” cried Jack; and he rushed 
from the room. 

In the overflow of his heart, he bought half a 
dozen lemons and half a pound of sugar at the near- 
est grocery. Then, noticing some fine oranges in the 
window, and remembering the wistful looks George 
had cast upon them the last time they passed that 
way together, he bought some of these, together Avith 
a pound of the nicest soda-biscuit. A few dried 
herrings, the usual supply of bread and cheese, and 
two candles, completed his stock of purchases. The 


AN UNFORESEEN CALAMITY. 


215 


result was that when he reached home, and paid his 
rent to the landlord, — who dunned him for it as 
they met on the stairs, — he found that, of the three 
dollars he had collected that evening of Professor De 
AValdo, he had but fifteen cents left. 

“No matter!” thought he. “George must have 
what he needs, anyway; I’ll trust to luck for the 
rest. Cheer up, old fellow 1 ” he cried, as he entered 
the room. “ I ’ve something for you.” 

The first thing was to light one of the candles. 
The next, to mix some lemonade in a glass, and stir 
it with an old case-knife (their only utensil), which 
they kept hidden in the table drawer. 

“Now drink, George; I know it will do yon 
good 1 ” Jack said, taking the glass to the bedside. 

“Won’t you — drink a little yourself — first?” 
George said faintly ; even in his great distress 
thinking of his friend ’s. comfort before his own. 

“ Never fear but I ’ll look out for myself ! ” ex- 
claimed Jack; and he supported George while he 
drank. 

To his disappointment, George sipped only a few' 
drops, and then sank back on his pillow, complaining 
of a violent headache. 

“ Can’t you suck one of these oranges ? ” Jack 
asked, with anxious sympathy. “You remember 
how good they looked to you the other day.” 

“By and by — not now — you are so kind, dear 
Jack ! Let me rest a little while. 0 dear 1 ” 

George turned his face to the wall; and soon. 


216 


FAST FRIENDS. 


from liis heavy breathiog, Jack thought he must he 
asleep. 

“ Sleep is what he needs more than anything. 
He ’ll be better in the morning. Poor fellow ! he 
must n’t work so hard, and starve himself in this way 
any more ! ” 

It was not long before Jack himself went to bed ; 
but he had scarcely fallen asleep, when his friend’s 
restless tossing and moaning waked him, and he 
jumped up to light the candle again, and see what 
could be done. 

In this way he was up and down all night, gladly 
sacrificing himself, but without the satisfaction of 
feeling that all his care and watching brought his 
poor friend any relief 

The good woman of the house had but just en- 
tered her kitchen the next morning, when a haggard, 
anxious boy’s face appeared at the door. It was the 
face of Jack. 

Mrs. Dolberry ! if you will be so good, ma’am, — 
my friend is in a bad way, — I don’t know what to 
do for him, — and if you will be so kind as to come 
and see him ! ” 

She was a large, coarse woman ; and Jack remem- 
bered with a pang of remorse the instinctive dislike 
both he and George had felt towards her, and the 
fun they had made of her in their merrier days. But 
within that mass of flesh, which certainly appeared 
open to ridicule as it climbed with toilsome steps and 
asthmatic breath the lodging-house stairs, there was 


AN UNFORESEEN CALAMITY. 


217 


a woman’s heart, as Jack discovered now, in time of 
need. 

“Here, Janet!” she cried; “finish slicin’ up these 
taters. Slash on some coal soon as ever the fire gits 
kindled a little. I ’ll be back in a second.” 

The idea of her making the journey to the upper 
story and back in that brief space of time, was one 
of those ridiculous things which the boys would have 
had some mirth over a few days ago. It was cer- 
tainly no trifling undertaking for a creature of her 
short breath and vast bulk ; but she set about it he- 
roically, placing a hand on her knee to aid her ascent, 
and making a forcible gasp at every step, like a man 
chopping wood. 

Jack, however, — though, in his impatience, he 
thought she had never been so slow, — felt no dis- 
position to laugh at her now. 

She entered the room, glanced quickly about it, 
then looked at George, and finally laid her hand 
gently on his head. 

“ Your chum is in a burnin’ fever,” she said. “ I 
knowed it soon as ever I set eyes on him. How long 
has he been so ? ” 

“ Only since last evening.” 

“ He ’s got all run down ; I ’ve been feelin’ all 
along ’t suthin’ wa’ n’t jest right with you two boys ; 
but ’t wa’ n’t none o’ my business, long as ye paid 
yer rent. Has he had his meals reg’lar ? ” 

“Not very,” Jack confessed. 

“ I thought so. Goin’ ’thout warm dinners ’s 
10 


218 


FAST FRIENDS. 


enougli to make anybody sick. I wondered wlietlier 
you wa’ n’t perty poor. But them oranges don’t 
look as if you was; I can’t afford oranges, present 
prices.” 

“ I thouglit they would be good for him,” Jack 
explained. “ What would be good ? ” 

“ A doctor can tell ye better ’n I can. I can mos’ 
gen’ly nu’s’ my own children ; but I don’t want 
nothin’ to do with a case of fever. Been out of his 
head, hain’t he ? ” 

“ Some of the time ; he has talked of all sorts of 
things.” 

“My ’pinion, he’s dangerously sick,” said the 
woman ; “ and the sooner ye bring the doctor to him 
the better.” 

“What doctor do you recommend?” Jack asked, 
with despair at his heart. 

“Doctor Maxwell, jest a few doors down this 
street. Ain’t nobody better ’n him. Terms reason- 
able too. He comes to them that employs him 
reg’lar, for half a dollar a visit. He ’ll come to any- 
body in my house for that.” 

Jack seized his cap. He did not know where the 
half-dollars were coming from to pay the doctor ; and 
he did not stop to consider ; he only knew that the 
doctor must be called. 

“ I am very thankful to you,” he murmured. 

“ Don’t think of sich a thing. I only wish ye ’d 
axed me in afore. And now if there ’s anything else 
I can do for ye, — any hot water, when the doctor 


AN UNFORESEEN CALAMITY. 


219 


comes, or Injin meal and soft soap for poultice, — 
there ’s nothin’ like a soft-soap poultice to sweat off 
diseases, — or a light and nourishin’ broth for your 
friend, soon as he ’s able to take it, — you ’ve only to 
call on me, and I ’ll jump at the chance.” 

Jack did not smile, as he would once have done, 
at the thought of the excellent woman, with all her 
flesh, jumping at anything. Tears were in his eyes, 
as he thanked her again, and hastened to bring the 
doctor. 

The doctor came. He examined the patient, looked 
grave, shook his head, and mixed some medicines 
with a solemn air, which filled Jack with horrible 
dread. Having explained how and when they were 
to be taken, and administered the first dose himself, 
he said, in answer to Jack’s anxious questions, — 

“ He ’s pretty sick, — that ’s all I ’m prepared to 
say now. I can judge of the case better, after I see 
what effect the medicines have ou him. He can’t 
have too careful nursing. Be sure and not neglect 
anything I have told you. I ’ll look in again in the 
course of the day.” 

He came again at noon ; but discovered no favor- 
able symptoms in his patient. At five o’clock he 
paid a third visit, and had a consultation with Mrs. 
Dolberry (who waylaid him in the entry) before 
coming up stairs. 

George had been delirious all the afternoon ; talk- 
ing incoherently of Vinnie, the pickpockets, Mrs. 
Libby and Mr. Maiiton, manuscripts and magazines. 


220 


FAST FRIENDS. 


pawnbrokers’ shops and Bowery Hall. Once he 
burst into a wild laugh, and, sitting up in bed, 
pointed at the mantel -piece, which he imagined to 
be the stage of the colored minstrels. 

“Jack, as Miss Dinah! see him dance! Funny 
as anything can be, till they bring out my piece ! 
Where ’s Fitz Dingle ? ” Then, after listening to 
some imaginary conversation, he added seriously, 
“They say Fitz Dingle has gambled away his bad 
eye ; but I don’t think it a very great loss.” 

Half the time he did not know Jack ; and if he 
chanced to know him at one moment, he took him 
for somebody else the next. 

It was at this crisis that Dr. Maxwell made his 
third visit. After again examining the patient, he 
turned to Jack: — 

“ It is my duty to say to you that your friend is 
threatened with a dangerous fever; and that, if he 
has any relations, they should be notified at once. 
It will be impossible for you to give him all the care 
he needs ; and it will be putting rather too much on 
Mrs. Dolberry to have him sick in her house, unless 
you can get some assistance.” 

“ 0, I can take care of him 1 I won’t leave him, 
day or night 1 ” cried Jack, quite wild in his distress. 
“ Only tell me he will live ! ” 

“ I hope he may, — I shall do all I possibly can 
for him,” replied the doctor. “And be sure you do 
your part, so that you may have nothing to regret. 
I’ll look in again at about nine o’clock.” 


V 


AN UNFORESEEN CALAMITY. 221 

The climax of J ack’s woes seemed to be reached ; 
and after the doctor’s departure he gave way, for 
the first time, to feelings of utter grief and despair. 
He could see no hope but that George would die ; 
he would certainly die, he thought, unless help 
could be speedily had; for what could he do, alone 
with him in the great city, without money and with- 
out friends ? 

He blamed himself for everything; and now the 
memory of their one quarrel came back to him with 
a pang which he thought would never cease to rankle 
in his breast, unless he could hear George say once 
more that he freely forgave him all. 


» 


222 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XXXIIL 

A MYSTERY IN JACK’S POCKET. 

But Jack was not a lad to give himself up to the 
bitterness of despair, when there was something to 
be done. 

That he might have nothing more to regret, he 
resolved to take the doctor’s advice, and write to 
George’s friends. There, on the table, was the letter 
to Vinnie, which had been written the day before, 
but not sealed ; and he determined to enclose a few 
words of his own in that. 

This done, he wrote the long-contemplated letter 
, to Mr Chatford, asking for help. His pride was now 
all gone ; and he blamed himself bitterly for not 
writing before. If I had,” thought he, George 
might have been saved from this. Now it will be a 
week before I can expect a reply, — and who knoAvs 
what may happen before then ?” 

Mr. Dolberry came in, — a brisk little man, a 
dozen years younger than hi& wife, and such a 
pygmy, compared with her, that the boys used to 
nickname him Little Finger. He brought a plate of 
toast, with a message from the Hand to which (as 
the boys fabled) he belonged. 

“ She says you must eat it, or you ’ll be sick your- 


A MYSTERY IN JACK’S POCKET. 


223 


self/’ he said to Jack, setting down the plate. “You 
must look out about that. I don’t know what under 
the sun would become of you both, or of us, if you 
should be took down. You ’d have to go to the hospi- 
tal, for aught I see. And I ain’t sure but what your 
chum ’ll have to go, as ’t is. Doctor says he ’s perty 
sick.” 

“ I can’t let him go to the hospital ! ” Jack ex- 
claimed. “ He never shall be taken away from me, 
if he lives. If he dies — then I don’t care what 
happens.” 

“If you’ve got plenty of money,” said the little 
man, “you may keep him out of the hospital; 
though I ’d advise you not to. It will be jest as 
well for him, and mabby better, to go ; and enough 
sight better for you, to let him go. You ’ll be free 
to run about your business then, as you can’t now. 
It ’s an awful job — a terrible sacrifice — to take care 
of a person in a fever, day and night ; and I don’t 
think you know what it is you undertake.” 

If, conveyed by^ this sincere advice, the selfish 
thought entered Jack’s mind, that he might shirk 
his duty to his friend, — abandon him to the chari- 
ties of a public hospital, and the care of strangers, 
while he, unhindered, looked out for his own wel- 
fare, — he received *that thought only to abhor it, 
and reject it with scorn. How would he feel, ship- 
ping as a hand on board a boat, and returning to 
the home and friends he had so rashly left, while, 
for aught he knew, the companion he had deserted 


224 


FAST FRIENDS. 


might be dying under the hands of hired nurses, 
and calling for him in vain ? 

‘‘You are very kind — Mrs. Dolberry is very 
kind,” he replied. “ I hope we sha’ n’t trouble you 
too much. But I shall keep my friend with me if 
I can.” 

Jack passed another fearful night with his patient, 
giving him his medicines, with occasionally a sip of 
lemonade, and trying to soothe him in his fits of 
delirium. He was now so tired that, at the slight- 
est opportunity that occurred, whether it found him 
reclining in the bed or sitting in a chair, he could 
catch a few minutes’ sleep. 

It was an unspeakable relief when morning came, 
and with it the doctor. He had furnished all neces- 
sary medicines on his previous visits, but he now 
wrote a prescription for something which he seemed 
to consider very important, to be bought at the 
apothecary’s. It would cost, he said, about half a 
dollar. 

Jack trembled. For his friend’s sake he was 
afraid to say that they had, between them, but fif- 
teen cents in the world ; thinking the doctor would, 
with that knowledge, drop the case at once, and that 
George would then have to be carried to the hos- 
pital. 

“ If I live,” J ack vowed to himself, after the doctor 
was gone, “ I ’ll pay him for his visits some day, — 
somehow ! And I ’ll get this medicine, too, and pay 
for it ; there must be some way ! ” 


A MYSTERY IN JACK’S POCKET. 


225 


An idea, which he had suggested to George, mostly 
in jest, now occurred to him in a more serious aspect. 

He had proposed, we remember, that they should 
take turns at pretending sickness and lying abed, in 
order that one suit of clothes might serve for both, 
while the other suit went to the pawnbroker’s. But 
George was now sick in earnest ; and why should not 
the plan be carried out in earnest ? 

“ 1 11 put on his clothes, and pawn mine, for mine 
will bring more than his. They ought to bring five 
dollars ; and that ought to buy his medicines, and 
what little I shall need to live on, till we get money 
eitlier from his folks or mine. He won’t want his 
clothes before then ; if he does, he shall have ’em, and 
I’ll go to bed.” 

With this thought. Jack began to clear his pockets 
again. Only two things of any importance dropped 
out, besides some pawnbrokers’ tickets. 

The first was a business card, — that of Josiah 
Plummerton, the old gentleman who had kindly 
loaned the boys money to pay their fares, after their 
pockets were picked on the steamboat. They had 
never yet hunted him up, because they had not seen 
themselves in a condition to repay his loan, and did 
not care to ask a second favor from him until they 
could properly acknowledge the first. But now Jack 
thought that, as a last resort, he would apply to their 
old friend. 

As he was looking at the card, and shaking his 
pockets, a small bright stone, or bit of glass, fell out 
10* o 


226 


FAST FRIENDS. 


and rolled across tlie floor. He picked it np, and 
looked at it with surprise. How such a thing ever 
came in his pocket was a complete mystery to him. 
It had facets and angles, and it reflected the light 
with beautiful prismatic rays. He would have 
thought it a diamond, but for the absurdity of sup- 
posing that diamonds could be found tumbling about 
the world in that way, and getting into boys’ pockets. 

“ It ’s an imitation of a diamond, though,” thought 
Jack; though that easy conjecture did not help him 
at all towards a solution of the mystery. 

He laid the stone with the card on the mantel- 
piece, and was proceeding to roll up his clothes in 
a compact bundle, when something — he could hardly 
have told what — caused him to change his mind; 
and, unfolding them again, after some hesitation he 
put them on. Perhaps he reflected that, if he was 
to call on Mr. Plummerton, he had better appear in 
his own attire. 

Soon Mrs. Dolberry came to bring him a cup of 
coffee and a baked potato, and to see how his friend 
was. 

‘"And now,” said she, ‘‘give me all your dirty 
clothes ; they can go into my wash as well as not. 
You boys don ’t ’pear as though you ’d had a woman 
to look after ye, lately! Can’t you put on a clean 
shirt, and give me the one you ’re wearin ’ ? ” 

“ All our underclotlies are soiled,” Jack was 
forced to confess ; “ and it ’s too bad to trouble you 
with ’em.” 


A MYSTERY IN JACK’S POCKET. 227 

“Never mind the trouble. But how comes it 
about that a couple of nice-appearin’ young men 
like you two don’t have your washin’ ’tended to ? 
Your socks ain’t so bad off, — though they look as 
though you had darned ’em yourselves ; but your 
shirts !” 

The truth was, that the boys had washed their 
own socks, and darned them with materials George 
had brought with him for that purpose; but the 
washing and doing-up of shirts was something quite 
beyond them. 

As Jack hesitated in his reply, the good woman 
went on : — 

“I do believe that I guessed right in the first 
place; you’re short of money! If that’s so, the 
sooner you let me know it the better.” 

Whatever else he did. Jack could not lie to her. 
As he began to speak, his tongue was loosed, his 
heart opened, and he poured forth the story of their 
misfortunes. 

“ Wal ! now I’m glad I know I” she said, dashing 
a big tear from her cheek. “ It ’s a hard case ; but 
now you must see the folly of tryin’ to take care o’ 
your sick friend and keep him in my house. Me 
and my husband ’ll do everything we can for ye ; but 
you ain’t sure your friends will send you a dollar ; 
and there’ll be doctors’ bills, and everything; and 
my doctor can git your chum into the hospital, where 
he ’ll have good care ; and that, as I see, is the only 
thing to be done. Now eat your breakfast, and think 


228 


FAST FRIENDS. 


it over, while I send this prescription to the ’pothe- 
cary’s, with the money to pay for ’t.” 

Jack drank the coffee, hut he could not eat a 
mouthful, he was so full of misery. 

In a little while Mr. Dolberry brought the medi- 
cine, and helped to give the patient a dose of it; 
after which he consented to remain by the bedside 
while Jack went out to find a friend. 

That friend was Mr. Josiah Plummerton. He was 
proprietor of a sail-loft, over on the East Elver. Jack 
was little acquainted in that part of the city ; he had 
a good distance to travel, and it took him half an 
hour to find the place. Then he learned, to his dis- 
may, that Mr, Plummerton had not come to his office 
that morning, and that his place of residence was in 
Brooklyn. 

When Jack took the card from the mantel-piece, 
he also slipped the little stone into his vest-pocket. 
He thought no more about it until, as he was return- 
ing home, disconsolate, from his fruitless journey. Eke 
a flash of light the recollection came to him of the 
pickpocket’s diamond ring. 

“This is the missing stone!” exclaimed Jack to 
himself. “ But it is most likely false ; everything is 
false about these fellows. I ’ll show it to somebody.” 

Passing a jeweller’s door, as he was crossing the 
Bowery, he went in, and asked a bald-headed man 
behind the counter to look at the stone, and give an 
opinion of it. 

The man glanced at it ; then, looking keenly at 


A MYSTERY IN JACK’S POCKET. 


229 


Jack, as if the fact of his possessing it was rather 
suspicious, he asked, — 

“ Is it yours ? ” 

“I think I shall claim it,” Jack replied. I had 
my pocket picked of forty dollars, in Albany, a few 
weeks ago ; and the rogue left this in its place.” 

“ It dropped out of his ring,” said the man, grow- 
ing interested. ‘^If he got only forty dollars, he 
did n’t make a very good trade.” 

“How so?” cried Jack, surprised; for, even if a 
diamond, he had not thought of its being worth more 
than eight or ten dollars, such was his ignorance of 
stones. “He got nearly thirty dollars from a friend 
of mine at the same time.” 

“ You have rather the best end of the bargain, after 
all,” the man replied, examining the stone. 

“ Is it really — a diamond ? ” 

“ It is a diamond, and a fine one.” 

“ Is it worth the money we were robbed of, — sev- 
enty dollars ? ” 

“ Yes, more than double that,” replied the jeweller, 
passing the stone back to its present possessor. “ You 
made a good trade. That stone never cost less than 
a hundred and fifty or sixty dollars.” 

“Will you buy it ? ” cried Jack, eagerly. 

“ I ’d rather not take a stone that you came by in 
that way. Hot but what I think you are honest,” the 
jeweller added, seeing Jack’s countenance fall; “but 
it seems you had it of a rogue, and very likely he got 
it dishonestly.” 


230 


FAST FKIENDS. 



“it is a diamond, and a fine one.” 


Jack felt the force of the argument, and was a 
good deal shaken by it. 

Then, if I can’t sell it, what ’s the good of having 
made so good a trade, as you call it ? I don’t want 
a diamond ; but my friend is sick, and we have no 
money, and — ” Jack began to choke. 


A MYSTERY IN JACK’S POCKET. 


231 


Perhaps you can find somebody willing to buy 
it of you, and take the risk of the rightful owner 
corning to claim it,” replied the jeweller. “Or” — 
observing Jack’s distress — “ if your want is only 
temporary, and a small sum will answer your pur- 
pose, I will lend you ten dollars on it ; for you seem 
to be an honest lad.” 

Jack could not express his thanks. He was only 
too glad to leave the costly trifle in the jeweller’s 
hands, and take the proffered ten dollars, for imme- 
diate use. 


232 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE POLICE COURT. 

Crossing over to Broadway, he passed along Leon- 
ard Street; and was just opposite the great city 
prison, — from its gloomy style of architecture, and 
the use it served, called the Tombs, — when somebody 
ran lightly after him, and clapped him on the shoul- 
der. 

Jack turned, and to his surprise encountered the 
polite Professor De Waldo. 

I was just thinking of Phineas, and wonder- 
ing — ” began Jack. 

“ Wonder no more ! Look here ; and, if you 
have n’t seen it already, be amazed, be indignant ! ” 
And the professor, taking a newspaper from his 
pocket, pointed to a paragraph lieaded, Master 
Felix in a Fix.” 

Glancing his eye over the item. Jack saw that it 
was a facetious account of the arrest and incarcera- 
tion of the celebrated mesmeric subject on Saturday 
evening. 

“Now where’s your friend, the famous author, 
the young man of genius ?” cried De Waldo. “ I ’ve 
another job for him; and I’ll pay him this time, 
and pay him well. I want him to write a reply to 


THE POLICE COURT. 


233 


tins paragraph, describing the strange things Master 
Felix does under the influence, and then crack up 
his clairvoyant powers — get it into all the papers — 
make a magnificent advertisement, don’t you see ? ” 

Jack saw, and marvelled at the father who could 
thus coolly think of turning his son’s misfortune and 
disgrace to a pecuniary advantage. 

“ Where is Phineas now ? ” he asked. 

“ Before the police court, I expect, by this time. 
But that’ll be all right; I’ve seen the man who 
had him arrested ; I ’ve an understanding with him.” 
And the professor touched his pocket. “ Won’t you 
come and see my boy ? Then git your friend to 
write us up.” 

Jack replied that his friend was not in a condition 
to write up anybody ; but, thinking this might be his 
only opportunity of seeing Phin, he accompanied the 
professor. 

They found the court-room crowded with specta- 
tors, many of them belonging to the lowest class of 
society, — rogues and roughs, whose very garments 
reeked with the atmosphere of vice ; some attracted 
solely by a morbid curiosity to witness the coarse 
drama of life enacted every Monday morning on the 
stage of the police court ; others, by a personal inter- 
est in the fate of the prisoners. 

A number of these were ranged on a long bench 
against the wall, behind a bar, guarded by constables. 
They were mostly a vicious-looking set, being men 
and boys arrested since Saturday, nearly all for 


234 


FAST FRIENDS. 


drunkenness, assault and battery, or petty theft. In 
tliis row were two persons whom Jack recognized, 
with mingled feelings of surprise and heart-sick- 
ness. 

One was Master Felix. He sat at the end of tlie 
row, twirling his cap, and looking anxiously among 
the spectators, until his eyes rested on the professor, 
and his face suddenly lighted up with a gleam of 
hope. The next moment he saw Jack; and his 
countenance changed to a queer expression of shame 
and grinning audacity. 

The other person whom Jack recognized sat be- 
tween two burly ruffians, with whose coarse garments 
and features his own fashionable attire and polite 
face presented a curious contrast. Yet his coat had 
not the usual gloss ; his linen appeared sadly soiled 
and crumpled; his hair and whiskers lacked the 
customary careful curl ; his chin bristled with a 
beard of two days’ growth ; his gay features were 
downcast ; in short, the whole man had so much the 
appearence of having passed a dismal Sunday in the 
Tombs, that at first Jack hardly knew him. But, 
looking again, he was sure of his man. It was Mr. 
Manton. 

And who was that kind-looking old gentleman 
just leaning over the bar to speak to him ? Jack 
had a side view of his face : it was one he could 
never forget, — that of his old friend, Mr. Plummer- 
ton, whom he had been to find that very morning, 

“Does he know Mr. Manton?” thought Jack. 


THE POLICE COURT. 


235 


Then he remembered that the woman who talked 
with him on the steamboat, when he was passing 
around the hat, had proved to be Mr. Manton’s 
wife ; and it now occurred to him that she and the 
old gentleman might then have been travelling in 
company. 

An Irishman, who was arraigned for beating his 
wdfe, on her own complaint, having been let off with 
a light fine, which she cheerfully paid (her heart re- 
lenting towards him), the next case called was that 
of Mr. Manton. 

It was pitiful to see the fallen gentleman stand 
dangling his damaged hat, wdiile a policeman testi- 
fied to having found him asleep in the gutter, with 
the curbstone for his pillow, very early on Sunday 
morning; and also to having picked him up in a 
similar condition twice before. 

No legal defence was set up ; but Mr. Plummerton, 
standing by the judge’s desk, said a few words to 
him in a low voice. The judge then imposed a fine 
(which Mr. Plummerton paid), and gave Mr. Manton 
some earnest advice, to which that gentleman lis- 
tened with humble attention. The case was then 
dismissed. 

As Mr. Manton was leaving the court-room, he 
passed near Jack, whom he evidently knew; how- 
ever, as he did not seem to be in his usual spirits. 
Jack did not accost him. But when Mr. Plummer- 
ton was passing afterwards. Jack put out his hand. 

It was a moment before the old gentleman recog- 


236 


FAST FRIENDS. 


nized him; then he exclaimed, *'Ah, I remember! 
the steamboat! You are one of the young felloM^s 
who had their pockets picked. And how have you 
got on since ? ” 

Eather poorly, some of the time ; and now my 
friend is sick. I have been to see you once, and I 
am going again soon.” 

Do so. I have thought of you more than once. 
But^what ’s your business here ? ” 

“ That boy at the end of the row of prisoners is 
an old acquaintance of mine ; and I just ran in, on 
his account.” 

“ Ah ! Where have you known him ? ” 

“ He was brought up by the man I lived with in 
the country, — Mr. Chatford. He is a relative of 
the family, and he was adopted as Mr. Chatford’s 
own son. But — you see that man talking with the 
policeman, over there? That is the boy’s father, — 
a regular quack and swindler; he came along, and 
got the boy away from the best place in the world, 
and now they travel together.” 

“ I ’m glad you ’ve no worse errand, for yourself, 
in this place ! ” said the old gentleman. “ It ’s bad 
enough to be obliged to come on account of others. 
Call and see me. I am in a hurry now.” 

Another petty case having been quickly disposed 
of, that of Master Felix came next in turn. The 
grocer who had caused his arrest did not appear 
against him ; but the poliaeman who had taken the 
prisoner in charge made a brief explanation. 


THE POLICE COURT. 


237 


The grocer, he said, had acted impulsively, having 
been much annoyed by repeated acts of pilfering 
from his exposed boxes ; but Professor De Waldo 
had satisfied him that the lad did not really intend 
to steal, and had engaged that nothing of the kind 
should again occur. 

The professor himself then offered to make a 
speech, and began by describing the peculiar powers 
of his pupil, ‘"the celebrated Master Felix”; but 
the judge cut him short, and the prisoner was dis- 
charged, much to the chagrin of De Waldo, who 
had counted on the occasion for advertising his 
business in Murray Street. 

As Master Felix was going out. Jack stepped up 
to him, and kindly gave him his hand. 

“ How are ye, Phin ? ” 

“ Hello, Jack ! ” said the " celebrated,” rather sul- 
lenly. But, seeing that his old friend’s manner was 
really kind, and not sarcastic, as he had reason to 
suppose it would be, he added, more openly, What ’s 
the news ? How are all the folks at home ? ” 

“All well; and I am glad you speak of it as 
home” replied Jack. 

“That’s old habit; it’s no more a home to me, 
and never can be ! ” 

“I don’t know about that, Phin. They often 
speak of you, and I know, if you should wish to go 
back, you would be welcomed, — by Mrs. Chatford, 
especially; for she can never speak of you without 
tears coming into her eyes.” V 


238 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Phin appeared touched. She was always good 
enough to me ! ” he muttered. 

"‘Who was not good to you ? Phin, you know 
you left a good home, and good friends, when you 
left them; and if you would tell the truth, you 
would own that you were much better off then than 
you have ever been since.” 

“ I don’t know, — there ’s no use talking about that 
now. But what are you doing here in the city ? ” 

“ I can’t tell you now, — I must hurry back to a 
sick friend ; but I want to see you again, Phin, be- 
fore I leave ISTew York. Think of what — ” 

Jack did not finish his sentence. His eyes just 
then fell upon a well-dressed man entering the 
court-room, the sight of whom put for a moment, 
everything else out of his mind. When, a little 
later, he again thought of Phin, and looked for him, 
he was gone, and he saw liim no more. 


HOW THE DIAMOND FOUND A PURCHASER. 239 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

HOW THE DIAMOND FOUND A PURCHASER. 

The person who had thus attracted Jack’s atten- 
tion pressed through the crowd, and, entering within 
the bar of the court, stood near the rail, talking with 
a lawyer about some criminal case which was soon 
coming to trial. 

Jack struggled to get near, and, at the first oppor- 
tunity, reached over the rail and touched the man on 
the shoulder. The man gave him a frowning look, 
and was turning away again, when Jack said, in a 
low voice, ''I’ve something for you.” 

" I don’t know who you are,” answered the man, 
suspiciously. 

" I think you do,” said Jack, with sparkling eyes. 
"At all events — ” 

He whispered a sentence which caused the man 
quite to change his manner towards him, and an- 
swer hurriedly, "Well, hold on! I’ll be with you 
in a minute.” 

In a minute, accordingly, having finished his con- 
ference with the lawyer, he came out, and withdrew 
with Jack into the vestibule of the court. 

" Now, what was that you said ? I did n’t quite 
understand.” 


240 


FAST FRIENDS. 


''I think you understood. But I can repeat it. 
I said I believed I had a diamond which would fit 
that ring of yours.” 

What do you mean ? What ring ? ” 

“Of course, Mr. MacPheeler,” said Jack, “your 
hand was never in my pocket, and so the stone 1 
found there, in place of my purse which was taken 
by some rogue, can’t belong to you. And yet I ’ve 
the strongest feeling, that somehow that stone will 
fit your ring. I mean the ring which we saw on 
your finger — my friend and I — when we met you 
on a certain evening, not a great while ago.” 

“ Let me look at your stone a moment,” said Mr. 
Alex. MacPheeler. 

“ Excuse me,” replied J ack. “ It is for sale, but 
it is not to be handled in a public place like this. 
I don’t think you need to see it, in order to know 
the kind of stone it is. If you would like to buy it, 
say so. If not — good morning.” 

“ I should like a suitable stone for my ring,” said 
MacPheeler, graciously. “ If yours is such a one as 
I think, from your description, I ’ll give you twenty- 
five dollars for it.” 

“The price is one hundred and fifty dollars, Mr. 
MacPheeler,” answered Jack, firmly; “and there’s 
no use of your offering less, — you who know what 
fine stones are.” 

“ Don’t talk quite so loud,” said MacPheeler, 
drawing Jack farther aside. “Do you remember 
how much you lost with your purse ? ” 


HOW THE DIAMOND FOUND A PURCHASER. 241 


friend and I together lost almost seventy 

dollars.” 

“Well, I’ll give you seventy dollars for the stone. 
Then you won’t lose anything.” 

“ I beg your pardon ! ” said Jack, turning coldly 
away. “ You have made us a great deal of trouble.” 

“ I ? ” cried MacPheeler, innocently. 

“I mean the rogues who robbed us,” said Jack, 
willing to keep up the little fiction, to please Mr. 
Manton’s friend. “ Not ten times seventy dollars 
would pay us for what we have suffered in conse- 
quence of that robbery. Now do you think I will 
sell out for just the sum we lost ? I ’ll sooner have 
one of the rogues arrested, and use that diamond as 
evidence against him in court.” 

“Give me the stone, and here is your money,” 
laughed MacPheeler, unfolding a roll of bills. 

“You will have to go with me to a jeweller’s over 
on the corner of the Bowery,” said Jack. “There 
we’ll make the exchange, if you wish it. But see 
here, Alex. MacPheeler ! if that money is counter- 
feit, or if you are not quite in earnest, we may as 
well part at once.” 

The pickpocket smiled at Jack’s natural distrust 
of the character of his money and of the honesty of 
his intentions, and told him to “ go ahead.” 

“ But you must give me back my purse, and my 
friend’s pocket-book,” said Jack. 

“That,” replied MacPheeler, “is out of the ques- 
tion. Do you think the man who took them would 

11 p 


242 


FAST FRIENDS. 


be apt to keep sucli tilings when they might turn up 
as evidence against him ? Not if he is the kind of 
man I take him for.” 

''Well! come on!” said Jack. 

Not a word was said by either, as he led the way 
along the street, occasionally looking behind to see 
if the rogue was following, until they reached the 
jeweller’s door. 

"Now,” said Jack, stopping, "here is the place; 
and shall I call that policeman over, to stand by and 
see fair play, or will you just pay your money and 
take the stone, like an honest man ? ” 

MacPheeler nodded and smiled again, in a cold, 
sinister way, and said Jack need n’t mind about the 
policeman. Then they went in. 

"I’ve a customer for that stone,” Jack said to his 
bald-headed friend, who appeared surprised at seeing 
him again so soon. " He knows what it is ; you 
need n’t show it. He pays a hundred and fifty dol- 
lars for it. Please look carefully at the money.” 

MacPheeler smiled the same cold, sinister smile, 
as he tossed three fifty-dollar bank-notes on the 
counter with silent contempt, and waited for the 
jeweller to examine them. The notes proving to be 
genuine, the latter took from a little drawer the 
stone in question, and passed it over to MacPheeler, 
who glanced at it, smiled, and put it into his pocket. 

"I hope you will not lose your money again so 
easily!” he said ironically to Jack, as he was leav- 
ing the shop. 


HOW THE DIAMOND FOUND A PURCHASER. 243 


“ I hope you will not be troubled with any more 
fits ! ” Jack called after him. 

He then returned to the jeweller his loan of ten 
dollars, pocketed his hundred and .fifty, hurriedly 
telling the story of his last adventure with the pick- 
pocket ; and then ran home in joyful, anxious haste 
to his sick friend. 


244 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XXXVI. 

AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. 

That day Jack wrote again to Mr. Chatford, recall- 
ing his request for a loan of money, and explaining 
how it happened that he now had enough for present 
purposes. 

He also wrote to Vinnie, begging her not to send 
the money which George had asked for. I am sorry 
to say my poor friend is no better,” he wrote ; " but, 
thanks to a strange good fortune, we are no longer in 
want of anything.” 

George was, indeed, no better ; which means — as 
it always does in such cases — that lie was worse. 
But now that Jack had money, and with it the power 
to keep his friend where he could be with him, and 
watch by his bedside, his hope and courage rose, and 
never once failed him tlirough all the long, toilsome, 
terrible days and nights which followed. 

Both Mrs. Dolberry and her husband showed him 
a great deal of kindness at this time; furnishing 
him his meals, and assisting him occasionally in 
taking care of his patient. But they were still of 
the opinion that George should go to the hospital. 
Either that must be done or a hired nurse would 
be necessary ; for such a boy as Jack, they declared. 


AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. 


245 


could not thus give his life to the patient and hold 
out long. 

“0, if only Mrs. Chatford were here, or Annie 
Lanman, or some good woman I know ! ” he thought 
a hundred times ; but he could not bear to call in a 
stranger. 

Such was the state of affairs, when, one morning, 
as he was hurrying home with some ice to be used in 
the sick-room, he overtook a young girl carrying a 
satchel, and looking anxiously at the numbers of the 
houses along the street. 

“What house are you trying to find ? ” asked Jack, 
not forgetting, even in his own anxiety and haste, the 
courtesy due to a young girl, and a stranger. 

“ The house where Mr. Dolberry lives.” And she 
named the number. 

There was something in her sweet, troubled face, 
and in her winning tones of voice, which would have 
attracted Jack’s attention at any time ; for they re- 
minded him, in some subtle way, of the dearest friend 
he had ever known, — Mrs. Annie Felton Lanman. 
Of course, the question she asked quickened his in- 
terest in her. 

“ The house is close by ; 1 am going there,” he said, 
and offered to carry her satchel. 

In her anxiety she neglected to give him the 
satchel, and forgot to thank him. 

“ Is — do you know if George Greenwood — ” 

She could not finish the question, the answer to 
which she trembled to hear. 


246 


FAST FRIENDS. 


He is there,” Jack hastened to assure her. " I 
am going to him now.” 

She made no reply; but Jack could see the tears 
start from her eyes and her lips quiver as she glided 
swiftly by his side. 

“Here is the place,” he said, when they reached 
the door. “ I am George’s friend.” 

“I thought so,” she replied, recovering herself a 
little. “ I could n’t thank you before. But T am so 
glad I met you ! I am his friend too — his sister 
— Vinnie.” 

“I was sure of it!” exclaimed Jack, clasping her 
hand, with tears of joy. “ How did you ever get 
here ? ” 

“ I scarcely know myself. But how — how is he ? 
Tell me the worst at once! I can bear anything, now 
I know he is alive.” 

“ The worst is — that he is very sick. But we 
shall save him, — now you have come, I am sure we 
shall!” 

“ Can I go right to him ? ” 

“You had better see Mrs. Dolberry first. And 
you must be prepared. He may not know you, and 
you will hardly know him. We have had to cut off 
all that beautiful hair of his.” 

“ 0 my poor George ! ” was all the young girl 
could say, as she followed Jack to Mrs. Dolberry’s 
room. 

“ Bless me ! if you ain’t a spunky gal ! ” was that 
worthy creature’s admiring comment, when told who 


AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. 


247 


Vinnie was, and how far she had travelled alone to 
come to her sick friend, or brother, as she called 
him. It is lucky now he did n’t go to the hospital ! 
I ’ll give you a vacant room I have on the same 
floor, — you ’ll be glad to be near him ; though I 
don’t know what you can do for him that ain’t done 
a’ready ; for his friend here — you can never know, 
and the poor, sick young man can never know, how 
he has stuck to him,, as no brother could ever have 
stuck closer.” 

Vinnie understood the spirit of these words, in 
spite of their broken syntax, and a great wave of 
hope and gTatitude moved her breast, so weak after 
her long, anxious journey. 

Jack hastened to relieve Mr. Dolberry, whom he 
had left with George, and to get the room and his 
friend in readiness for Vinnie’s visit. A new life 
seemed to have come to him ; a strange comfort, a 
subtle joy, thrilled every nerve. 

“ 0, if he could know she is here, it would help 
cure him, I am sure ! ” thought he. “ But he will 
feel her presence, if he does n’t know. How much 
she is like Annie ! ” 

When she came in, it was some time before she 
could overcome her pain and grief at seeing George 
lying there unconscious, so wan, so wasted, his shaven 
head covered with cloths kept wet with ice- water, — 
her old playmate, her dear “ brother,” whom she had 
last seen full of hope and strength, as he waved his 
hat towards her, from the deck of the packet-boat. 


248 


FAST FRIENDS. 


and sailed away into tlie sunrise ! Had all his plans 
and aspirations come to this ? 

She lost little time, however, in tears and vain 
regrets, but soon began to busy herself in the sick- 
room as only a woman can do. For Vinnie, though 
scarcely seventeen years old, w’as a woman in heart 
and experience ; her life with the Presbits had, as an 
offset to her many privations, given her strength and 
self-reliance ; and in helping their neighbors in times 
of sickness she had gained something which she 
found of far more value now than all the money she 
had earned. 

Vinnie had come dressed in a gown of plain, ser- 
viceable, dark stuff, suitable alike for her journey 
and the tasks she expected to perform at the end of 
it. Besides that, and the few other clothes she wmre, 
she had brought all her travelling gear in the little 
satchel she carried in her hand. But, had she shone 
in silks and diamonds, she could not have appeared 
more charming than she was, in the eyes of Jack. 

Her quickness, lightness, and grace made him feel 
very clumsy and awkward at first ; and she found so 
many little things to do, which he had not thought 
of, that he began to think that, after all, he was a 
very stupid nurse indeed. 

Mrs. Dolberry had had a lounge brought into the 
room for the convenience of the watchers ; and it was 
not long before Vinnie told Jack to lie down on it and 
sleep, while she sat by the patient, and kept his head 
cool. 






“ViNNIE WATCHED THE SICK, WAN FACE OF GeORGE. 



AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. 


249 


" But you need sleep more than I do, — after your 
journey,” replied Jack. 

0 no ! I rested very well on the steamboat last 
night, coming down the river. And I have n’t been 
w'orn out with watching night and day, as you have. 
Besides, I could n’t sleep now ; I wish to sit by him, 
and be quiet for a little while. If anything is 
needed which I can’t do for him, I will wake you.” 

Her words, although very gently spoken, seemed 
almost like commands to Jack, who accordingly took 
the lounge, while she sat alone, in silence, by the bed. 

But he did not sleep. He could not help peeping 
from under his half-closed lids, and watching her, 
while she, with all her yearning, tender, sad young 
soul in her eyes, watched the sick, wan face of 
George. 

“ How fond she is of him ! ” thought Jack. " I 
should almost be willing to lie there sick, if I could 
have such eyes look so at me ! ” 

Later in the day they had some comfortable talks 
together ; and J ack told her many things about his 
friend which she did not know before. 

“ Why did n’t he ever tell me of his literary 
plans?” she said regretfully, — almost jealously, it 
seemed to Jack, who wondered now that George 
could have kept back any confidences from such a 
heart as hers. ''But he was always strange, — so 
very shy and sensitive about many things ! ” she 
added, finding the readiest excuse for his conduct. 
" I am glad he has such a friend in you ! ” 


250 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“But it was the hardest thing for him even to 
tell me of his plans,” replied Jack. “ It was neces- 
sity that compelled him, — not that he thought half 
so much of me as he did of you. O, if you could 
have heard him talk of you, sometimes, as I have 
heard him ! ” 


JACK AND THE OLD SAIL-MAKER. 


251 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

JACK AND THE OLD SAIL-MAKER. 

From the very day of Vinnie’s arrival a slight 
change for the better began to show itself in George ; 
either because the fever had then run its inevitable 
course, or because — as Jack always believed — 
something of her own healthful life, some soft, quiet 
influence, shed its cooling dew upon liim, and did 
perhaps what all his medicines might not have done, 
to restore his strength. 

With his greater leisure, Jack’s resolution returned, 
to finish up, in some way, the business which had 
brought him to the city. He now made private in- 
quiries, which he had shrunk from doing at first ; and 
Mrs. Dolberry, to whom he told his story, consulted 
in his behalf all the old gossips in the neighborhood. 
As this was the side of the city, between Broadway 
and the North River, where the child was supposed 
to have been lost a dozen years before, it was very 
strange indeed that nobody could be found to re- 
member the circumstance. Cases of lost children 
were not very uncommon in so large a city; but 
not one could be heard of to correspond with Jack’s 
own. 

He did not neglect the police department; but 


252 


FAST FRIENDS. 


his inquiries there met with no better success. He 
found two or three officers who had been over a 
dozen years in the service ; but they, with all their 
recollections of curious things which had occurred in 
their experience during that time, remembered noth- 
ing to his purpose. Nor did the examination of any 
city records give a clew to the rewards which he 
supposed must have been offered for him. 

As he had already examined very thoroughly two 
files of old city newspapers, and found nothing what- 
ever to encourage him, he was now forced to the 
conclusion that he was the victim of a strange blun- 
der, or perhaps a downright falsehood, on the part 
of either Molly or Mother Hazard. 

It was about this time that he bethought him 
again of old Mr. Plummerton, — whose loan of half 
a dollar he was now well able to repay, — and went 
once more to find him at his sail-loft. 

The old gentleman was out, as before ; but this 
time Jack thought he would go up into the office and 
wait. 

It was a plain, roughly finished room ; the bare 
walls relieved by pictures of vessels under full sail, 
and by printed slips, mostly clipped from newspapers, 
pasted above the desk. 

Jack amused himself by looking at the pictures, 
and then began to read the slips, when his eye fell 
upon the following paragraph : — 

My.sterious Disappearance in Brooklyn. — Last Saturday 
afternoon, Catharine Larcy, an Irish servant living with a family 


JACK AND THE OLD SAIL-MAKER. 


253 


named Eagdon, in Prince Street, Brooklyn, received permission to 
go and visit a sister in Williamsburg, and to take with her a young 
child of her employer, a boy about three and a half years old. 
Neither child nor nurse has since been heard from, and every effort 
to trace them has proved unavailing. The Williamsburg sister — 
wdio appears to be a respectable person — denies all knowledge of 
their whereabouts, and says she has not seen Catharine for several 
weeks, the two not being on friendly tenns. They have a brother 
living in another part of Brooklyn, but he is unable to give any 
explanation of the mystery. The family and friends of the missing 
child are in great distress, and a reward of one hundred dollars has 
been offered by them for any information that may lead to the 
recovery of the lost darling. 

Immediately under this paragraph was pasted the 
following : — 

It seems that Catharine Larcy, the nurse who disappeared so 
mysteriously with the Eagdon child, last Saturday afternoon, had 
a quariel of long standing with her own family on account of her 
husband, a worthless fellow, whom all her relatives had turned out 
of doors. She had promised her last employer that she Avould have 
no communication with this man ; but it is strongly suspected that 
he is somehow at the bottom of the mystery. It is not impossible 
that he has induced her to abduct the child, in order to secure the 
offered rewards. If so, his opportunity has come, five hundred 
dollars being now offered by the Brooklyn authorities and the 
friends of the child, for its recovery. 

It also appears that Catharine, only the day before her disappear- 
ance, had received from her employer a large amount of wages, 
which had been accumulating for several weeks. 

Jack had barely finished this last paragraph, when 
Mr. Plummerton came in, and greeted him with his 
usual kindness. 

“ I have come to pay my debts,” said the visitor, 
with beaming pleasure in his smile, as he took half 
a dollar from his pocket and gave it to the old ipan. 


254 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“As a matter of business, I take it,” replied Mr. 
Pluinmerton. “ And glad am I to see it again ; 
not for the sake of the money, you understand, — 
that ’s a trifle, — but because it shows me that you 
are not only upright boys, but that you have been 
prospered.” 

“ Prospered after a curious fashion,” said Jack, who 
then told the story of his friend’s sickness, and of the 
pickpocket’s diamond. 

“ Very curious ! ” exclaimed the old gentleman. “I 
hope your friend is better now.” 

“ The doctor says the crisis is passed, and that with 
careful treatment he will get well. But he has had 
a dreadful time ! ” 

Partly to hide his emotion at the recollection of 
what he had gone through with George, Jack turned 
to the printed slips pasted above the desk. 

“ I was reading something here when you came in.” 

“ So I observed ; and you seemed to be interested.” 

“ I have reason to be,” said Jack. “ I heard of this 
case before, while making some inquiries with regard 
to another lost child ; but I could n’t learn that the 
mystery was ever cleared up. May be you can tell 
me.” 

“ It never was cleared up,” Mr. Plummerton re- 
plied. “ What other case of a lost child do you 
speak of?” 

Jack hesitated a moment, then told his story, 
in which the old gentleman appeared deeply inter- 
ested. 


JACK AND THE OLD SAIL-MAKER. 


255 


" And what do you propose to do now ? ” he asked, 
after all was told. 

“ I shall go back home to Mr. Chatford’s as soon as 
my friend Greenwood is well enough, so that I can 
leave him. Meanwhile, I shall put an advertisement 
into the papers, as I should have done in the first 
place, if I had had plenty of money. I don’t expect 
anything from it now ; but it will do no harm. 

Mr. Plummerton turned to his desk, and appeared 
about to open it, but hesitated. Jack would have 
taken this as a hint that it was time for him 
to withdraw, but for a certain indecision, even agi- 
tation, in the old man’s manner. He was, moreover, 
determined to ask some questions regarding that other 
lost child, of whose case he believed Mr. Plummer- 
ton had a personal knowledge. 

Before you leave the city,” said the latter, leaving 
his desk unopened, and turning again to his visitor, 
you must go home with me to Brooklyn. Can’t you 
go now ? ” 

" Hot very well now ; my friends will be expecting 
me home at noon. But I should like to go with you 
soon, and learn something more about — ” Jack 
pointed to the printed slips on the wall. I should 
have followed up that case, when I first heard of it, 
if I had n’t been out of the city ; that fact, and the 
circumstance of the nurse being with the child, 
showed that there could be no connection between 
it and my own case.” 

The old man made no reply to this, but said : — 


256 


FAST FKIENDS. 


“ If you can’t go home with me to dinner, go over 
this evening to tea ; that will perhaps be better. Call 
for me here at about five o’clock. Don’t fail,” 

Jack promised, and. soon taking leave of the man 
whose friendship he had gained in so singular a man- 
ner, hastened home to his patient. 


HIMSELF AGAIN. 


257 


CHAPTEE XXXVIII. 

HIMSELF AGAIN. 

That afternoon George woke from a long, deep 
sleep of healthful rest ; and for the first time in almost 
two weeks his own bright, unclouded spirit looked 
out of the blue eyes that opened upon Jack sitting 
by his bed. 

Hallo, Jack ! ” he said, in his old, pleasant tones 
of voice. “ What are you reading ? ” 

“ A little of Lord Byron,” Jack replied, as carelessly 
as he could, in the surprise and joy of finding his dear 
George himself again. 

Byron ? But we ate Byron and the other fel- 
lows,” said George. Or did I dream it ? ” 

“ You Ve had some odd dreams,” Jack answered. 

" Yes, I Ve been pretty sick. I know it. But see 
here. Jack ! we did pawn or sell Scott and Burns and 
Byron and — What ’s that on the mantel-piece ? 
My flute ! Why, I remember distinctly pawning 
that ! ” 

Yes, George,” said Jack. "We pawned a good 
many things. But they have all come back to us. 
You see, we Ve had a streak of luck.” 

" What luck ? ” said George, trying to raise himself, 
but finding no strength in his shrunken arms. 

Q 


258 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ You remember the pickpocket’s ring, which you 
noticed had a brilliant diamond the first time you saw 
it, and had no diamond the next time ? And where 
do you suppose that diamond was, all the while we 
were suffering the extremes of poverty ? In my 
trousers-pocket, George ! ” 

No, no ! That ’s a romance. Jack ! ” 

''No romance at all. Who would ever think of 
inventing such a thing for a story ? It actually hap- 
pened ; and the way I discovered it, and sold it back 
to our friend the pickpocket, — Mr. Manton's friend y 
I mean, — is one of those things which people say are 
stranger than fiction. It ’s all true, George ; and with 
the money that rogue actually paid me I have re- 
deemed all our pawned articles, bought back the books 
we sold, paid rent and board and washing and doctor’s 
fees, and have more left for both of us than we started 
from home with. But see here, old fellow ! you 
must n’t go to being excited, or I sha’ n’t tell you 
anything more.” 

" No, don’t tell me any more, — I can’t stand it ! 
I ’m glad I did n’t send my letter to Vinnie — I did n’t 
send it, did I ? I can’t remember.” 

"No, you did n’t,” replied Jack, thinking it discreet 
to withhold the real truth for a while. 

" And yet,” said George, " it seems to me I have 
been with Vinnie. I thought I was in the old room 
at home, and she was taking care of me, — and you 
were there too. Jack. Strange how things have been 
mixed up in my mind ! Of course, we have n’t been 


HIMSELF AGAIN. 


259 


there, J ack. And of course she has ’nt been here, — 
that ’s more improbable still. But who has arranged 
this room so nicely ? No direspect to you. Jack, but 
you never put things in such order, I know ! Only a 
woman’s hand could do this.” 

“Well, women have been here,” said Jack. “ Mrs. 
Dolberry has been very kind ; and, George, we ought 
both to be ashamed of having ever made fun of her.” 

“ What letter is that on the mantel-piece ? ” George 
inquired. “ For me ? ” 

“ Yes, one that came yesterday.” 

“ From Vinnie ? No,” said George, with a disap- 
pointed look, seeing the superscription. “ Hallo ! it ’s 
from the 'Manhattan Magazine’! Bead it. Jack! 
Quick ! ” 

Jack opened the letter, and found that it contained 
a bank-note of five dollars, in payment for the poem, 
“An Autumn Hay,” printed in the “Manhattan 
Magazine.” The heart of the poor young poet was 
filled with joy. 

“ My poem in the ' Manhattan ’ ! ” he exclaimed. 
“ 0 Jack ! I guess I am dreaming now. I never 
could see the editor ; so, finally, I left a note for him ; 
and this — ” 

He took the bank-note in his thin, feeble fingers, as 
if to make sure that it was a reality. 

It was the first payment he had ever received for 
his verses ; and never afterwards — not even when, 
not many years later, he was paid for such trifles ten 
times as much by magazines eager to secure coiitribu- 


260 


FAST FRIENDS. 


tions from his pen — did his success as a poet seem 
so certain, or its reward so sweet. 

It was some time before Jack ventured to tell him 
any more news. But George, after a little rest, wished 
to know if A Scene at the Wharves ” had been heard 
from, and whether it was accepted. 

It has been accepted, printed, and paid for,” re- 
plied Jack. “I have three dollars in my pocket, sent 
you by the editor, with his compliments, and an invi- 
tation to write him two such articles a week, describ- 
ing city scenes ; for which he will pay you six dollars 
a week.” 

“I can’t believe it !” said George. ^'Why, Jack, 
my fame and fortune are made ! ” 

“ Not if you get excited, and are made worse by the 
news, George. I ought not to have told you so much. 
You must n’t think of it any more ; and you know it 
will be a long time before you can begin to write 
again.” 

“ Yes, yes ! But, 0 Jack ! you have made me very 
happy. I owe that daily-paper business all to you. 
I should never have thought of writing up city scenes, 
if you had n’t suggested the idea. And — have n’t 
you accomplished anything for yourself yet ? ” 

“ Nothing to speak of. I ’ve just prepared an ad- 
vertisement here, which I am going to let off, as a last 
resort. I put no confidence in it ; for I have about 
made up my mind that I ’ve been wretchedly hum- 
bugged by somebody. I ’ll tell you why I think so, 
some time ; but you must rest now, and I have an 


HIMSELF AGAIN. 


261 


engagement to meet soon. Will you believe it ? I 
am going to Brooklyn to take tea with our old friend 
of the steamboat, who loaned us the half-dollar.” 

“ You mustn’t leave me alone, Jack ! But no ! I 
won’t be selfish ; go and enjoy yourself, and never 
mind me.” 

“ I won’t leave you alone, George ; be sure of that. 
You shall have better company than I am.” 

“ Better than you ! That ’s impossible, unless my 
dream should come true, and I should wake up and 
find — but that ’s foolish ! I ’ll go to sleep, and see 
if I can’t dream myself with her again.” 

“ George,” said J ack, earnestly, “ don’t be agitated, 
and I will tell you something. You did not send your 
letter to Vinnie, but I sent it, and wrote a few words 
to tell her that you were sick. And, George — ” 

“ She is here ! Vinnie ! ” cried George, faintly, as 
Jack’s story was interrupted by the entrance of the 
young girL herself into the room. 

She fluttered to the bedside like a bird ; there were 
stifled cries, scarcely heard by J ack, as he ran out and 
left the two alone, — an example which we shall do 
well to follow. 

But, while Jack is on his way to keep his engage- 
ment with the old sail-maker, we can glide softly 
back, and see Vinnie sitting by her “ brother’s ” side, 
holding his hand, and smiling joyously upon him, 
while he questions her with his eyes and tongue. 

Now tell me how you got away — all about it,” 
he entreats. 


262 


FAST FRIENDS. 


Well, when I got your letter, with tliat first note 
from Jack (he tells me I must call him Jack), it made 
a great commotion at home.” 

I can hear Uncle Presbit’s ' / told him so ! ’ ” says 
George ; “ and Aunt Presbit’s ' He has smade his hed, 
and he must lie on itH 

There was enough of that, certainly,” Vinnie re- 
plies. “ But they are kinder hearted than you ever 
believed; you know I always insisted upon that. 
They scolded and blamed you, of course, at first ; and 
I never said a word in your defence, — I knew that 
was the best way. I waited till their better feelings 
began to assert themselves, as I knew they would ; 
and then, when Uncle Presbit said, ‘Well, Vinnie, I 
suppose you ’ll send off all your hard earnings to that 
foolish fellow,’ I just replied that I had n’t made up 
my mind. 

“ ‘ Of course she will,’ said Aunt Presbit. ‘ She 
never could refuse him anything he asked, from the 
time when we first brought them together. Now her 
money will go too, and that will be the last of that ; 
then the first we know, he will be sending to us for 
more.’ 

“ Then I spoke up. ‘ I don’t think I shall send 
him any money,’ I said. That took them both by 
surprise, and they began to change their tone. Uncle 
said he supposed, of course, I would send a little, — it 
was no more than right that I should ; and he walked 
out of the house with the dissatisfied look you re- 
member. Then aunt burst out. 


HIMSELF AGAIN. 


263 


“ ‘ Vinnie, I ’m astonished at you ! ’ she said. 
' There ’s poor George, sick among strangers ; no mat- 
ter how foolish he has been, he ’s about the same to 
you as your own brother ; and you ought to do every- 
thing for him you can, I shall send him some money, 
if you don’t.’ And she went to the green chest, and 
brought out that old stocking of hers you remember, 
— the stocking stuffed with the butter and eggs 
money, which uncle gives her.” 

“ Did she ? ” says George, with glistening eyes. I 
should n’t have thought she would touch that money, 
for anybody.” 

‘"Hear the rest,” Yinnie goes on. "She tumbled 
out the money on her bed, and was shedding tears 
over it, and pitying you, and scolding me, when at 
last I could keep in no longer, and I said : — 

" " Aunt ! George is sick, he may be dying ! It 
is n’t money alone he needs. I told you I should n’t 
send him any. And I sha’ n’t. But I shall take all 
the money I have, and all you will lend or give me, 
and go to him, and stay with him, and take care of 
him, as long as he needs me.’ Then you should have 
seen her look at me ! 

" ^ How that sounds like you,’ she said. ' And you 
are as good a hand at taking care of the sick as any 
girl of your age I ever knew.’ But then she began to 
make objections; I was too young — I was a girl — 
the cost of the journey — and a hundred other things. 
All I replied was, ' George is sick among strangers ; I 
can get to him some way, and I will.’ 


264 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ Finally I obtained her consent. It was harder to 
get Uncle Presbit’s ; but I did n’t wait for it ; I just 
kept right on getting ready for the journey, and the 
next morning I started. He carried me over to the 
village, condemning my folly and telling me what to 
say and do for you> on the way. There I got Jack’s 
second letter, which decided me to send back all 
aunt’s money ; that pleased uncle so much, that he 
at last appeared quite reconciled to my going. I 
made the journey Avithout an accident ; got out of an 
omnibus on the corner of Broadway, and asked of a 
young man in the street the way to the house, who 
turned out to be your friend Jack himself. 0 George ! 
I seem to have been watched over by Providence 
through it all, and now that you are better, I think 
I can never be ungrateful again, or discontented with 
anything, in my life ! ” 

“Teach me to feel that way, too, Vinnie!” says 
George, his heart melted with thankfulness and Icve. 
“ You are so much better than 1 1” 


A REVELATION. 


265 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A REVELATION. 

Jack found Mr. Plummerton waiting for him. The 
old man was in a thoughtful mood, and talked little, 
as they proceeded to the foot of Pulton Street, crossed 
over in a ferry-boat to Brooklyn, and then walked 
up one or two streets, till they came to a plain, com- 
fortable wooden house, with Plummerton on the door. 

As they stopped before the old-fashioned, little 
wooden gate, they met two ladies, — -one quite young, 
the other of middle age, both dressed in black, — 
coming from the opposite direction. 

‘‘ Ah, Harriet ! ” said Mr. Plummerton, as they 
came up, “ so late ? I thought you would be here an 
hour ago. This is our young friend.” 

Jack had already recognized the kind woman 
whom he had first seen on the North River steam- 
boat, and afterwards in Mrs. Libby’s parlor. He 
now regarded her with a new and almost painful 
interest, knowing her to be Mr. Manton’s wife. 

She greeted him with a silent pressure of the hand, 
and a singularly tender, almost tearful smile; and 
then introduced him to her young companion with 
the hardly audible words, ‘‘My daughter.” 

The daughter smiled tranquilly, and gave him so 
12 


266 


FAST FRIENDS. 


slight, so cold a nod, that Jack did not venture to do 
more than pull off his cap to her at a distance. Those 
still, gray eyes seemed to measure and read him at a 
glance. She could not have been older than himself, 
yet her perfect repose of manner suggested a woman 
thoroughly acquainted with the world ; or was she 
not rather like a nun, too pure, too spiritual-minded 
to be moved by the world ? 

They went in ; and Jack saw no more of the 
ladies until tea-time. 

He met them at table, in company with old Mr. 
and Mrs. Plummerton, a widowed daughter of theirs, 
and her three children, who composed the family. 
Mrs. Manton and her daughter seemed to be neigh- 
bors, and familiar visitors, who (he inferred from 
some word that was dropped) had come in on that 
special occasion to meet him. 

Something was said of the adventure on the steam- 
boat ; and from that Jack was led on to give a pretty 
complete history of himself. 

He wondered very much how it happened that he 
was the centre of interest ; and he was surprised to 
see, as he went on, that there was a tremor of feeling, 
a mist of emotion, even in the nun-like face and eyes 
of Miss Manton. 

After tea, Mr. Plummerton took J ack into a little 
sitting-room, and carefully closed the door. 

The time has come,” said he, “ for a little serious 
talk. Sit down. You have asked me two or three 
times for the rest of the story, — about the Eagdon 


A REVELATION. 267 

child, — and I have put you off. Now I will tell you 
all I know to the purpose.” 

Jack drew a long breath. He could not help feel- 
ing that something of unusual interest was coming. 

“In the first place, about Mrs. Manton and her 
daughter. They are the wife and daughter of the 
man you saw fined for drunkenness in the public 
court the other day, and whose fine I paid.” 

“ It does n’t seem possible ! ” exclaimed J ack. 
“Mrs. Manton is so good, so beautiful! and the 
daughter — she is white as snow ! I know the 
father.” 

“ Manton is not a bad man ; he is not by nature a 
low or vicious man. But drink has besotted him, 
body and mind. This terrible misfortune has had 
a peculiar effect on his wife and daughter. Grace 
used to be one of the brightest, merriest children 
ever seen ; and she has a warm heart and a quick 
wit still ; but shame and suffering, in sympathy with 
her mother, on Ms account, have made her, in the 
presence of strangers, the kind of statue you see 
her.” 

“ Are there other children ? ” 

“None living. A son, older than Grace, died a 
year and a half ago. It was the remembrance of 
him, and perhaps a certain resemblance she fancied 
between him and you, that attracted Harriet to you 
on the steamboat.” 

“You were travelling in company with her, then ? ” 
Jack inquired. 


268 


FAST FRIENDS. 


“ Yes ; I had been to Albany on business, and she 
had been to see her husband’s brother, who lives 
there, and w^ho, through me, pays Manton’s personal 
expenses. We wished to have some different arrange- 
ments made for him, — to give him some employ- 
ment, and take him away from temptation ; but the 
brother would n’t hear of the plan ; he says he has 
done all he can for Manton, and that he will now 
have no more trouble with him, except to give him a 
bare support.” 

“The bare support includes pretty good suits of 
clothes,” said Jack. 

“ That comes from the brother’s notions of family 
pride,” replied the old man, with a smile. “ The 
Mantons must be gentlemen, even w^hen they are 
drunkards. But this is n’t what I was going to say.” 

“You were going to tell me about — the Eagdon 
child.” 

“ That child’s mother and Mrs. Manton were sis- 
ters. I am their uncle.” 

The old man was going on to relate more particu- 
lars of the family, when Jack, at the first opportu- 
nity, interrupted him. 

“ The child and nurse were never heard from ? ” 

“ Yes. Six years after the disappearance, the nurse 
came back, and told a strange story. She was sick, 
and believed she was going to die, and wanted to 
relieve her mind by a confession. She did die, a few 
w^eeks after, having maintained the truth of her story 
to the last. Here is the printed account.” 


A REVELATION. 


269 


Mr. Plummerton took a small, rough-looking book 
from the shelf. 

“ When I turned to open my desk, hut changed 
my mind, this morning, as you may remember, I was 
going to show you this scrap-book. It contains all 
the printed accounts of the affair, rewards offered, 
and so forth. But I thought you had better see it in 
my own house. Here is the nurse’s story, briefly to 
this effect : that the going to Williamsburg that day 
was a pretence; that she really went to Hew York to 
pay a secret visit to her husband, and took the child 
with her ; that, to induce her to go off with him, or 
to get her money, he gave her liquor to drink ; and 
that, when she came to herself, the child was lost 
and could not be found.” 

Jack became suddenly very pale. 

“ How long ago ? ” 

"Thirteen years ago, this coming month. The 
nurse, terrifled at the loss of the child, which had 
been left to stray away through her neglect, — afraid 
to come back without it, and now completely under 
her husband’s influence, — finally ran off with him, 
and was not heard of, as I said, for six years.” 

"What part of New York ?” 

" She could n’t remember the name of the street 
where she met her husband; but it w^as not very 
far up town, and it was between Broadway and the 
river.” 

Then Jack inquired, " How was the child dressed ? ” 

The old man answered, "Very much as you say 


270 


FAST FRIENDS. 


you were dressed, when you were picked up. Here 
is the full description, in the printed offers of re- 
wards, only we have ' golden curls,’ instead of ‘ yellow 
curls,’ and ' fine pink and white checks,’ instead of 
plain ^ pink,’ gives the color of the frock.” 

Jack held the book in the sunset light, which 
shone through the window, and read the announce- 
ment which he had looked for in the Hew York 
papers so long in vain, and which must have escaped 
his eye because it appeared in them under the head 
of ''Affairs in Brooklyn.” 


JACK’S RELATIVES. 


271 


CHAPTEE XL. 
jack’s relatives. 

His breath almost stifled with emotion, his eyes 
shining, Jack laid down the book and looked at Mr. 
Pliimmerton. The old man continued, with singular 
calmness of look and tone : — 

“ Hone of us has any doubt but you are the true 
Henry Eagdon. Mrs. Manton is your aunt ; Grace 
is your cousin. This relationship accounts for a cer- 
tain resemblance you bear to the son who died, — 
which was not all in Harriet’s fancy.” 

“ Mrs. Eagdon — my mother — is dead? ” said Jack. 
" And my father ? ” 

‘‘Your father was at that time in business with his 
brother-in-law, Manton. Manton ruins everything 
he touches. He ruined your father. The failure 
came close upon the heels of the other terrible affair. 
It ’s a distressing story altogether ; I won’t dwell 
upon it. Your father was one of the most active, 
upright, earnest men I ever saw. Overwork and 
anxiety of mind brought on a fever, and he died the 
next December. Your mother never recovered from 
this double calamity ; yet she survived her husband 
about four years.” 

Jack made no reply. His face was buried in 


272 


FAST FRIENDS. 


his hands. After a pause, Mr. Plummerton went 
on : — 

“You will he interested to know what property 
was left. Your father, owing to his failure, left noth- 
ing. But your mother had a little in her own right, 
which he would never touch, — and wisely, as it 
proved. It was something less than a thousand 
dollars ; yet it was all she had to live on, after he 
died. Harriet had as much of her own, but Manton 
.squandered every dollar of it. After Harriet was 
separated from her husband, she and your mother 
lived together, and shared everything in common, 
even to the care of the children. What is left of 
the little property, Harriet still has, and it is all she 
has. Your mother left it in her hands, without a 
will, knowing her necessities, and knowing, too, that 
if the lost child was ever found, Harriet would do 
what was right by him. How would you Like to see 
your aunt and cousin ? ” 

“ Pretty soon — not just yet,” Jack murmured, his 
face still hidden, and his bent frame agitated. 

Mr. Plummerton went out; and presently Mrs. 
Manton came in, sat down by Jack’s side, took his 
hand, and with an arm placed gently and affection- 
ately about him, drew him towards her, until his 
head rested, childlike, upon her motherly shoulder. 
This was more than he could endure, and he sobbed 
aloud. 

She was also deeply moved. But after a time she 
grew calm, and then she talked to him long and lov- 


JACK’S EELATIVES. 


273 



JACK AND HIS RELATIVES. 


ing]y of his parents, especially of his mother, of his 
own childhood, and of many things which cannot be 
recounted here. 

Once Jack became conscious of the presence of 
Grace, and looking up, he saw her sitting just before 

12* R 


274 


FAST FRIENDS. 


him, erect and pale, with tears sliding softly down 
her still face. 

When all had become more composed, Mrs. Man- 
ton said : — 

^^And now with regard to your mother’s little 
property, of which I suppose uncle has told you 
something. It had shrunken considerably at the 
time she died ; but I have kept as correct an account 
of it as I could ; and as soon as uncle came over at 
noon and told us of you, I set Grace to reckoning up 
the interest. She has the paper here. You will see 
by it that we owe you eleven hundred dollars. We 
shall not be able to pay all of it at once, hut we 
can pay a part of it in a few days, and then, little by 
little, make up the rest. She is beginning to give 
music-lessons now, and is quite successful ; and it 
costs us not very much to live.” 

Jack glanced at the paper, by the light of a lamp 
which had been brought in; then hung his head, 
with a look of deep trouble, which Mrs. Manton mis- 
took for disappointment. 

“You will think that you have gained hut little 
by hunting up your parentage,” she said sadly. 

J ack dropped the paper, and accidentally put his 
foot upon it as he rose. 

“ I can’t tell you how much I have gained ! ” he 
exclaimed, with the eloquence of strong feeling. 
“ To know what you have just told me of my par- 
ents, is worth everything ! As for this little prop- 
erty, my dear aunt ! my dear cousin ! ” — he held the 


JACK’S RELATIVES. 


275 


hands of both, — don’t for a moment think that I 
will ever take a cent of it ! It ’s where I know my 
mother would wish to have it ; I do not need it ; 
never speak of it again!” 

In vain they urged him. He would not even 
listen to their thanks. His heart was full. If not 
altogether happy, he felt that he was deeply blessed ; 
and that all the fortunes in the world could not at 
that moment make him richer. 

They urged him to remain, and make them a 
visit; then wished to know if there was anything 
they could do for him. 

“ Hot for me. In a few days I am going back to 
my country home, where I shall work and study, and 
want for nothing. But I shall have a friend here in 
the city. He will be lonely without me. If you 
will be kind to him and let him visit you, — and if 
you will sing and play to him, Cousin Grace, for he is 
very fond of music, — that wiU make me feel better 
about leaving him.” 

Jack promised, however, to come often to Brook- 
lyn, and to bring his friend with him once, if possi- 
ble, before leaving Hew York. 

Then, parting with Grace and her mother at their 
own door, he hurried to the ferry, and recrossed the 
river; his heart throbbing with deep emotion and 
exalted thoughts as he looked down at the rushing 
water aud up at the silent stars. 


276 


FAST FRIENDS. 


CHAPTEE XLL 

THE LAST. 

With Jack’s accomplishment of the object of his 
journey, and George’s restoration to health, our story 
of these fast friends draws to a close ; for the time of 
their separation was now at hand. 

Whilst awaiting George’s convalescence. Jack — 
for we will still call him by his familiar name — 
went round one day to Murray Street, hoping to have 
one more talk with his old friend, Master Felix. But 
neither Master Felix nor Professor De Waldo was to 
be found, the pair having lately decamped, as the 
landlord expressed it, between two days. Why they 
had taken this course, just as they were having a 
good run of custom, he could not explain, but conjec- 
tured that it was for the simple pleasure of cheating 
him out of his rent. 

The friends had some difficulty in dividing satis- 
factorily what they called their diamond money ” ; 
not because each claimed more than his just share, 
but for a quite contrary reason. After each had 
taken all that he thought belonged to him, there 
remained a handsome little sum which both sturdily 
refused. The difficulty was growing serious, when 
Jack suggested, as a happy compromise, a present for 


THE LAST. 


277 


Vinnie. What should it be ? ” was the question. 
George said she had long wanted a silk dress, but 
that his uncle and aunt had frowned upon the mere 
mention of such extravagance. As they could not 
well object to her receiving it as a present, the silk 
was secretly resolved upon. 

Jack paid several visits to his Brooklyn friends; 
and on one occasion invited his aunt and cousin to 
go shopping with him. He wished to be guided by 
their feminine taste and judgment in selecting the 
silk, and also in choosing some suitable gifts for Mrs. 
Dolberry, and for Mrs. Chatford and little Kate at 
home. 

That evening the friends had the satisfaction of 
delivering their present, and of witnessing a young 
girl’s innocent delight over her ''first silk.” There 
was but one drawback to Yinnie’s perfect content- 
ment : she had no new hat to wear with the new 
gown ! 

But somehow the hat and other needful accom- 
paniments were duly added, while the gown was in 
the hands of a dressmaker recommended by good 
Mrs. Dolberry ; and on a certain memorable occasion 
Vinnie " came out.” 

George also, on that occasion, appeared in a new 
suit, bought a day or two before at a ready-made 
clothing shop. As for Jack, he just brushed up his 
old clothes as w’ell as he could, and made them an^ 
swer. He was anxious that his friend^ should that 
day make a good appearance : he cared less for him? 


278 


FAST FRIENDS. 


self. It was Sunday, and all three were going over 
to take dinner in Brooklyn, and spend the afternoon 
with Mrs. Manton and Grace. 

It proved a delightful occasion for all ; but it was 
especially so to George. In his languid, convalescent 
state, his heart was open to all sweet influences ; and 
the beauty of the day, the sunshine and breeze and 
dancing ripples on the river, the presence and sym- 
pathy of his two dear friends, and the exceeding 
kindness of the new friends he was destined that day 
to make, — everything contributed to brim his heart 
with happiness. 

It was perhaps owing to this susceptibility of the 
invalid, that Grace made the deep impression on him 
which his friends observed. The sight of her affected 
him like the reading of a perfect poem, and the tones 
of her voice moved him like strange music. He did 
not find her cold, as Jack at first did ; but her very 
looks and words seemed, to his sensitive soul, always 
just ready to quiver with emotions unexpressed. 

The afternoon was enlivened by the unlooked-for 
appearance of Mr. Manton. He covered his surprise 
at seeing his young friends with a great deal of po- 
liteness ; and, alluding to the story of the diamond, 
which had reached him, declared that he was disap- 
pointed in that MacPheeler.” But he was happy to 
say that the light-fingered gentleman had recently 
got his deserts ; having been taken in tlie very act of 
picking a pocket, and shut up in the Tombs, where 
he was now awaiting his trial. 


THE LAST. 


279 


Manton made but a vshort call : but it was long 
enough to give the other visitors a new insight into 
the characters of Grace and her mother. While they 
had not the heart to laugh at his pleasantries, they 
treated him with a certain tender respect, which — 
to George particularly — seemed very beautiful. He 
had much to say about the trouble Jack would have 
saved himself by confiding to him, at the outset, the 
object of his business in the city ; but, finding that 
he had the talk mostly to himself, he presently, with 
many polite flourishes, took his leave. 

Vinnie, fresh and vivacious, broke through the 
reserve even of the quiet Grace, and gained her last- . 
ing friendship ; though they were not to meet again 
for many years. 

In the pleasant summer twilight, Grace and her 
mother accompanied their visitors to the ferry, and 
took leave of them there. To Jack and Vinnie, who 
were to start the next day on their homeward jour- 
ney, they gave affectionate good-by kisses ; to George, 
invitations to visit them again. 

It was these new friendships he had made which 
consoled George for the prospect of so soon parting 
with Jack and Vinnie and seeing them set off* on 
their journey without him, — a trial which had be- 
fore seemed more than he could bear. 

It seemed all he could bear, when the time came. 

I don’t know why Jack bore the parting more brave- 
ly ; perhaps because his present strength and natural 
self-control were greater; perhaps because Vinnie 
went with him. 


280 


FAST FRIENDS. 


The farewells were spoken at the door ; and there 
George stood and watched the coach that carried 
them away, and listened to the receding rattle of the 
wheels, until it turned a corner, and he saw and 
heard no more. Then climbing slowly to his room, 
he locked the door, threw himself upon his now 
lonely bed, and cried like a child. 

The parting of friends, eitlier by death or absence 
or estrangement, is, assuredly, one of the very sad- 
dest things in life. Almost every other sorrow can 
be met with patience. But time brings consolation 
even for this. 

^ Time brought consolation to George; yet neither 
new friends, nor literary success (which came with 
hard toil and frugal living), nor any good fortune or 
happiness, ever crowded from his heart the love and 
gratitude he felt for Jack. 

And Jack was no less faithful in his attachment. 
Yet the journey up the river and the canal, as far as 
Vinnie’s home, was to him — strange as it may seem 
— one of the happiest incidents of his whole life. 
He wished that it might never end. The weather 
was lovely ; and he and Vinnie sat on the deck of 
the packet-boat, or in the cool cabin, day and even- 
ing, and talked about George, New York, the past, 
the future, — everything but the present moments, 
which made them so happy, and which were going, 
never to return. 

Vinnie wished Jack to stop and visit George’s rela- 
tives ; but he was a little ashamed of giving himself 


THE LAST. 


281 


up to dreams and leisure, as he was now doing, and 
felt that he must hasten home to work on the farm, 
which, after all, he loved so well. 

The evening before they were to part, as they sat 
on the deck, gliding by moonlight through pleasant 
scenes, Vinnie said to him : — 

« Why is it that George never talked to me as you 
do ? Even that morning when he bid me good by, 
just as he was starting for New York, he seemed 
thinking of something else.” 

Though Jack had long since made up his mind 
that George, with all his brotherly affection, never 
appreciated Vinnie as he would have done in his 
place, he did not say so, but answered, half play- 
fully : — 

“ Still, when he has succeeded in New York, I sus- 
pect he will have something very confidential to say 
to you.” 

“ Oh ! ” laughed Vinnie, “ I know what you mean. 
But you are very much mistaken. Why, do you 
know, I have fully made up my mind that — ” 

“ That what ? ” 

“ That he will marry Grace Man ton. Yes, I am 
sure of it. She ’s just suited for him ; and did n’t 
you notice how he interested her ? What a poetical 
face she has ! And then, you know, fond as George 
and I have always been of each other, we are only 
brother and sister.” 

“ If I could think so ! ” Then, after a little pause. 
Jack added fervently, “I am only a boy now; but in 


282 


FAST FEIENDS. 


a few years I shall be a man ; and in the mean while 
I am going to make something of myself, if study 
and hard work will do it. I won’t ask you now to 
give me any serious promise; only that we, too, may 
be FAST FRIENDS till then!' 

“ Till then, and always,” Vinnie answered frankly. 


THE END. 


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